Time to Spare
by catherib
Summary: Twenty years after When Day Breaks, Natalie finds out you can't really go home again.
1. Default Chapter

Time to Spare  
  
A Highlander/Forever Knight Crossover  
  
A sequel to When Day Breaks  
  
Natalie shuddered as the Quickening left her and she sank to the ground, laying her head wearily against the gravelly cement. She managed to avoid most of the broken beer bottles, and sighed as her cheek soaked up the chill of the pavement beneath her. This wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to find her now, not here. This was her time off, her vacation. She was going home, you see. Immortals were just not supposed to find you when you were trying to go home. There really ought to be a law.  
  
She cracked open an eyelid, noting that her adversary's body had disappeared. Handy, that. Nick would be jealous. She smiled faintly at the thought, as she pulled herself up off the ground of the grungy little backlot that that idiot had insisted on fighting in. One of these days, she should really find a nice, backwater godawful hole in the earth that *didn't* have an immortal lurking in it, and build a retirement home there. She snorted. Yeah right, retire for the next century, but then what do you do after that?  
  
Her eyes forlornly traveled to the gravel road ahead of her, and the small town behind her, where she'd just stopped to eat a burger before she made the last leg of her journey to Toronto. One would think that staying off the main highways and taking the path less traveled by would at least afford her some security against meeting more of her kind. She stretched thoughtfully and trudged her way back to the car. Apparently she was in error; once you become one, you just can't seem to get away from them, even if you want to.  
  
She stretched again before she opened the door to her rental, and yawned hugely. *Damn, I knew this was going to happen.* Two minutes after a Quickening, and she was ready to curl up and go to sleep right there in her carseat. But she pinched herself and blinked rapidly instead, knowing she didn't have time to sleep it off, she had to get out of here before anyone started missing their friend. Not knowing how long that would be, she'd better make tracks while she could. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She'd tried to get him to wait till at least morning, so she could have a good night's sleep under her belt... if only he hadn't been in such a stupid rush to kill, kill, kill. After another jaw-cracking yawn, she started the car, and prayed the next town would at least be big enough to have a Seven- Eleven.  
  
As she pulled off the last of the pavement for a while (figures, the towns have just enough cement to cover their own roads, but once you leave you're on your own), her thoughts turned to Toronto. As for what she would do once she got there... well, she'd been pointedly trying *not* to think about that for quite some time now, thank you very much. But, as usual, she did anyway. It had been twenty years since she'd left, and she still wasn't sure if she wanted to see him. Never mind that, she wasn't sure he would want to see *her* anymore. They hadn't parted under the most flowery of circumstances. But here she was, battling the most annoyingly washboard gravel road you could possibly imagine, gritting her teeth against the jarring motion and mentally double-checking on the spare tire in the trunk. Never mind the fact that she was racing to get to Toronto before the first snowfall... traveling down an icy, no-traffic road was very chancy if something happened, to say the least. So definitely *some* part of her must want to see him, or else she was far too bored. Well, if nothing else, this little adventure was definitely going to liven up her life for a while... for good or for bad.  
  
In a practiced mental maneuver to get her brain to think of something other than what she didn't want to think about, Natalie tried to wonder why Nick was still in Toronto in the first place. She knew all the logical arguments against staying in one place too long; Adam had thrown them at her countless times over the years, especially in the beginning, when the temptation to go back had still been strong. Her friends all thought she was dead, she couldn't have made herself look twenty years older for long, and it's better to cut the ties clean, instead of making it harder for them, and for you. Most of those arguments went double for Nick. Why hadn't he moved on? What had he found to tie him there so thoroughly that he would risk the exposure?  
  
She could only think of a few answers, all bad. *You better not have picked yourself up another mortal, Nick. One would think you'd have learned that lesson by now.* She wasn't jealous, of course. She didn't really have the heart to, anymore. Twenty years was still a very long time, even for matters of the heart. And then there was Adam.  
  
Adam. She sighed. *Well, if I'm going to end up thinking about all the things I shouldn't be thinking about, might as well get them out on the table all at once...* She didn't smile at the thought. It had been fourteen years since she had last seen him, and it still hurt, even more than when she left Nick. At least when she left then, it was her idea, and her anger did a lot to help the pain.  
  
But with Adam, it hadn't been her idea. Not even a little.  
  
*I guess I shouldn't talk about making another mistake, huh, Nick? Not when I went out and made quite a doozy of my own...* God, how did she get on the subject of Adam? The last thing she needed to think about was the one memory that actually hurt *more* than the memory of her leaving Toronto... no, she was not going to cry. No, she'd been there, done that, got the tattoo, and it was gone within the week. She didn't have the slightest reason to cry. He most certainly wasn't crying over her. She took some deep breaths and opened her eyes wide, hoping to dry them out a little. Come on, Nat old girl, stiff upper lip and all that.  
  
She looked at her watch, and sighed. Four more hours to Toronto. That next town had better darn well have a caffeine outlet, or there'd be hell to pay. 


	2. Part 2

Time To Spare, Part 2  
  
Five hours and two liters of Mountain Dew later, Natalie found a hotel, got herself checked in and managed to sling her bag in the corner without too much of a whump. She pulled her alarm clock out of a side pocket and plugged it in, setting it to her watch, and considered when she wanted to set the alarm for. It was seven in the morning now, which meant she had about eleven hours to shut the blinds and let herself be dead to the world. She smiled and put on the DO NOT DISTURB sign... *without* adding "under pain of beheading", much as the idea tempted her. She thought about it, but she decided she did eventually want her room cleaned, and terrorizing the housekeeping wasn't the best way to do endear herself to them. She was barely able to pull off her most confining clothes and flick on the alarm before she fell back on the pillow, fast asleep.  
  
She woke to the alarm in her ear, the clock radio bellowing out the fact that she'd overslept, and not just a little. She sat up with a gasp. 6:50. "Ohhh, no no *no* no *NO*!" She leaped from the bed and into the shower, praising her foresight in at least having picked out the clothes she'd wear to the concert beforehand. She'd only be about fifteen minutes late. Only.  
  
*Come on, Natalie, Nick doesn't even know you're coming. It's not like he'll be disappointed if you don't show up on time.* But if she got there late, she might not be able to get a good seat. She still hadn't been able to decide between sitting in the back so she could watch him a while and approach him in her own time, or to march up and sit right under his nose, just to see the look on his face.  
  
As she battled the last of rush hour, she rechecked her directions on the back of the flier. She turned it over, looking again at Nick's face, framed by information about the piano concert he was featured in. She'd gotten the flier in the mail, even though she was two thousand miles away at the time, and she hadn't thought anyone knew where she was. She decided Adam must have sent it, he was the only one who could have traced her steps. She'd always thought it was kind of spooky how easily he could predict her.  
  
The whole thing seemed very strange, though. If it was Adam, he'd surely be the last person encouraging her to reappear in Toronto so soon after she'd left. It was totally impossible to know what he was thinking, of course... but she still trusted his judgment, even when she probably shouldn't, so she didn't try to analyze his actions. She simply took the surface advice and made her way to Toronto without question. He was right, after all. It was time.  
  
The sun reflected blindingly through the rear view mirror for a moment as she made a turn, and she couldn't help but wonder why the concert started so early. She couldn't imagine that Nick would voluntarily agree to perform before dusk, and this was several hours before. At least it was in a downtown locale, he could take the sewers without having to expose his vampire skin to the sunlight... but it still begged the question: why go through all the trouble? She always knew Nick could be a beautiful pianist if he wanted to, but he always seemed to brush off his talents, and never took advantage of them. Why the sudden change of heart?  
  
Twenty years, Natalie. Who says the change was sudden? It might just be a change of pace, and don't think you haven't made a few changes of your own in the same time. Besides, with luck, you'll find out for yourself soon enough.  
  
Well, it seemed at least the seating decision had been made for her. She grimaced, wandering aimlessly through the parking lot of the small auditorium, searching for a space. She'd be lucky if she could find some standing room at the door. But she did, gambling by slipping through a side door, and she found, to her surprise, that she actually didn't have that bad a view.  
  
But all that had moved to the back of her mind once she laid eyes on him. He'd already started playing, she checked her program to see it was his third song out of five. With a practiced eye, Natalie examined Nick from afar. Part of her mind was surprised, and saddened, that he didn't look as she remembered him. She shook herself and looked harder... he seemed all right, a little tired. His head was bent slightly in concentration, and he looked exactly as he did those few times he played for her in the loft, in a happier time. That pose, just so, she remembered as easily as her own name.  
  
And the music! The notes seemed to come alive as they poured from his fingers, thundering fury one moment, soft, almost hesitant the next. Dancing, playful tunes melted away as the song fell seamlessly into seriousness, then a dirge pounded out its anger and despair.. A pause... the playful melody quietly returned, to be swiftly drowned out by the furious harmony. The melody returned though, and this time would not be drowned out, but somehow added to the low harmony, changing its focus, drawing out the strength and the power while leaving behind the despair, creating a tower of strength that carried the listener through the song and seemed to linger still, even after the last note fell.  
  
Natalie found her eyes brimming with tears as she watched him, and knew now why he was always so reluctant to perform: ironically enough, it was because he was so good at it. A true performer didn't just play the music, he *felt* it, and in performing managed to convey some of that feeling to his audience, to give them some small understanding of what the music said to him. In some, they conveyed this through their gestures as they played, their posture and the way they caressed the keys. With Nick, it was in his expression. Natalie could see his face clearly from where she was, and she saw all the rage, sadness, teasing and joy, every emotion the music brought out in him clearly reflected on his face, for all to see. And the acceptance she saw in the closing notes, well, that was the reason she was doing her wide eye-opening and deep breathing routine again to banish the tears from her eyes. *Twice in one day. I do need more sleep.* Funny how this time she didn't seem to mind.  
  
Nick rose and bowed while the audience clapped politely. She was ready to glare at them in annoyance at their lack of response, until she saw that she couldn't see a single dry eye. Smiling thoughtfully, she turned and did some polite clapping of her own, just a little louder than those around her. She was far enough out of the his line of sight that there was no way he could see her, anyway.  
  
It wasn't till he had settled in for his next song that she saw the open window across from her. In the time since she'd come in, the setting sun was casting a beam of sunlight on the stage. It had already come dangerously close without her noticing, and from the way the sun was angling down, it would only be getting closer as time went on. Even now, it was three quarters of the way up the piano. Natalie didn't know how to get across to close the blinds... hadn't he told them about his skin condition? Or was this the curse of another well-meaning bystander throwing open the blinds at the last minute?  
  
Natalie cursed inwardly, but Nick had already started his song, it was too late for him to excuse himself now. He was stuck there for a few more minutes. Well, he only had two more songs left, how bad could it be? And with the music calling to her so softly, she couldn't help but fall back under its spell for a little while longer. She watched his mobile face, captured completely in the song, and couldn't help but wish he'd allowed himself this outlet to his feelings more often, instead of shutting them out, shutting everyone out. But looking at his face now, not only allowing all those feelings to exist, but to share them with others... something had happened to this man. Something important.  
  
She snapped out of her reverie to the sound of the polite clapping, this time a bit more forced, as if they knew too that their applause was sadly lacking, and were trying to compensate. But the sunlight was getting dangerously close, and it was time for Nick to take his final bow. She moved to get ready to leave and intercept him before he ducked through the nearest manhole, when her heart froze in her chest. She simply stared, too surprised for a moment to move as he sat back down in his chair and waited for the applause to die as his hands moved to begin the next piece! And the very instant she regained her voice to call out to him, to warn him, something, *anything*... that was the moment that the applause died out and the first notes began.  
  
Natalie stared hard at the leading edge of sunlight and debated the improprieties of simply walking across the room to shut the blinds, or physically getting up on stage and dragging him to safety. But to do either would bring attention to herself, and to him. She wasn't sure if she recognized any of the faces in the audience, but she wasn't going to find out by making a spectacle of herself and just hope no one would recognize her. If the positions were switched, she'd thoroughly despise someone who appeared alive before her, after certified dead years before. No, that wasn't the answer.  
  
And so she waited in the background, watched the light progress, and sweated. The light slowly arched its way across the highest keys, the ones hardly ever used. But it didn't stop there. Natalie glanced at the program, but it didn't give approximate times for the pieces. Not that it would have helped anyway, she was too nervous to have kept track of how long he'd been playing. The first time his hand darted in the sunlight, she jerked as if she'd been slapped. But then almost immediately he was back in the shade, safe.  
  
Natalie could only watch. There was no excuse now, no matter how involved he was in the music, he had to see his danger now. He had to leave immediately, before it really was too late to hide.  
  
But still he played.  
  
And finally, the sunlight progressed enough to hit his fingers, and stayed there. Natalie caught her lip and closed her eyes, her nails biting into the palms of her hands in sympathy for the searing pain he must feel, and she waited for gasps to turn into screams, murmurs into shouts as Nick's skin began to burn in the sunlight.  
  
And still the music played.  
  
She opened her eyes slowly to see... something she could not believe. His hand... his hand moved rapidly in the sunlight. It cast a shadow along the polished black wood of the piano. His hand was moving in the sunlight.  
  
And nothing was happening. Nothing at all.  
  
A hand flew to her mouth, to remind her not to make a sound, not a sound, he was still playing, she could laugh and cry and let it all out later, but for now she couldn't make a sound... oh my god, oh my *god*, no be quiet...  
  
Finally his last song, a quiet gentle piece, drifted to an end, and the audience, finally allowed to express themselves without the anticipation of another song, was as loud and enthusiastic as Natalie or anyone else could have possibly wished them to be. Nick bowed again, but did not smile. His eyes seemed to do that for him. He left the stage, and everyone started to pick up their things and leave. They were all leaving, and they never even knew the miracle they had just seen. A miracle she never thought she'd live to see.  
  
And then they were all gone, and Nick came back out to gather his things, getting ready to leave himself, when he noticed the one person still there in the auditorium with him. She had sunk into the nearest chair, but otherwise she hadn't moved. Still frozen, with had one hand to her mouth, her eyes still wide with shock.  
  
"Natalie?" She came out of it with a start, and her eyes locked with his. That's right, she was supposed to be nervous about this moment, wasn't she? She wasn't supposed to be sure what he would think about her coming back. A laughable thought, for she had already flung herself into his open arms.  
  
After a long moment, she pulled away to look at his face. She couldn't hold back the tears that tracked her cheeks as she brushed her fingers across the lines that had deepened around his mouth, the crow's feet that had appeared beside his eyes, eyes that looked younger than she had ever seen them. And his face was so warm, warmer than she had ever felt it... human. "Oh god, Nick, why didn't you tell me?" she whispered, as he quietly dried her tears.  
  
He opened his mouth to respond, and just looked at her a moment, as if a hundred conflicting answers were fighting to the fore. Then he glanced out the still-open window, and smiled. "Come on. The sun's going to set soon, and we don't want to miss the light."  
  
He pulled her out the door, and together they sat on the grass and watched the sun fade behind the city skyline. Or at least, that's what he watched. She watched him, watched the sunlight fade slowly on his face. But even when he was finally in full shade, with only the afterglow of the sunset to see him by, his eyes remained bright, defiantly so. And no darkness could take that from him. Never again.  
  
The two continued to sit and watch the sky as it darkened to orange, purple, then finally black. At last Nick rose and the two of them walked silently to her car. She had a thousand questions, but from the apprehensive look on Nick's face, she could tell he wasn't ready to answer them. She knew he'd tell her everything she wanted to know, but in his own time. So she was silent. She wondered idly when exactly it was that she'd gotten so good at reading a man whose thoughts used to constantly elude her...  
  
"Why are you smiling?" Nick's voice broke the silence, and she started, then suddenly laughed and rubbed her eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry, I was miles away."  
  
"Yes, you *were* miles away, but now you're not. Now you're here." He smiled in simple happiness, that turned just a little wistful at the end. "I missed you."  
  
Natalie glanced back at the many long years that had stretched between them, years that she had never thought would matter, nothing in the face of their immortality. How could she have been so wrong? "I missed you, too."  
  
Their eyes caught, and... and more things were said right then and there than either was quite ready for.  
  
Nick blinked. With determination. "So!" He even clapped his hands together for good measure to make sure the moment was well past. "Where are we going?"  
  
*Moment? What moment? Well for once, Nick, I agree with you...* She returned his bright smile just a bit late, but she managed. "Beats me, Nick. It's been twenty years, for me. You're the one who lives here."  
  
His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at her. "The city hasn't changed *that* much."  
  
Hmm... Natalie tapped her finger on the armrest idly, trying to think of a suitable place to talk... inspiration struck on cue, and she snapped her fingers. "Is Carl's still around?"  
  
"Right where you left it." Nick started the car, idly commenting further as he pulled out of the parking lot, "Though I heard they nearly went out of business when you disappeared... not to mention the nosedive of the Canadian ice cream market..."  
  
Natalie glanced at him through slitted eyes. "Nick, don't start..."  
  
"They called you in as a missing person after three days..." His perfect mask of innocence was starting to crack at the edges. Lord help her, those really were laugh lines on his face, every last one of them.  
  
"All right. For that, you're buying." *Laugh* lines... she restrained herself from touching his face again, but she couldn't help staring.  
  
He glanced away from his driving, seeing her eyes on him. "Nat, just out of curiosity... why Carl's?"  
  
That changed the subject perfectly, and Natalie's eyes gleamed. "Nicholas Knight, I've waited over a quarter-century for this..." Her jaw was set, even though she was laughing. "Tonight, I am going to sit down and *watch you eat* a hot fudge sundae."  
  
He looked back at her with amusement, chuckling. "That, I think I can do." 


	3. Part 3

Time To Spare, Part 3  
  
As Nick ordered their ice cream, Natalie found a booth for them. She waved him over when he had the goods, and they sat for a moment, spoon in hand, as if waiting for the other's permission. Natalie grinned at their polite behavior, shook her head, "Well, it's not going to eat itself," and plunged in.  
  
"Natalie..."  
  
"Nick, I..."  
  
They both stopped short. She took pity on him, "You go first."  
  
"I was just wondering how long you were going to be in town."  
  
"Well, that kind of depended on you." He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Natalie fidgeted, just a little. "You see, I... wasn't sure what your situation... your reaction... would be, and I..." she sighed, and decided to try again. "I wasn't sure you wanted to see me," she said simply.  
  
Nick looked a little stunned. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly shut it again and moved to her side of the booth instead, wrapping her in a fierce hug. "I *missed* you," he whispered, "and I can't tell you how sorry I am about all the stupid things I said before you left..."  
  
"Nick, they weren't stupid. You were just trying to look out for me," she mumbled into his shoulder.  
  
"And a fine job I did, too. Driving you off was really the coup de grace."  
  
Natalie closed her eyes, and bit her lip to keep from groaning aloud. The more things change... "Nick, it is *not your fault*."  
  
He took her chin and lifted it until she met his eyes. "You can't deny that if I hadn't said what I did, you wouldn't have left."  
  
"Nick, I had to leave anyway. I couldn't maintain my life here while trying to learn how to fight. I have too many ties here, too many memories..." she pursed her lips together, and tried to look away, but he wouldn't let her.  
  
"But if I hadn't made such an ass of myself, I could have gone with you."  
  
Natalie cocked her head and rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, and I'm sure Lacroix would have *loved* that idea..."  
  
"Natalie..." By this time they were both giving each other patiently exasperated looks. Nick shook his head and smiled helplessly at her. "We can't agree on anything, can we?"  
  
"Except that it was a long time ago," she replied, her voice full of soft regret.  
  
He nodded solemnly. "Truce?"  
  
"Truce." She smiled and released him, making shooing motions as she did so. "Now go eat your ice cream. It's melting."  
  
How was it that he could look ten years older, and still make the little boy face? "But it's better melted."  
  
Natalie winced. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."  
  
Nick grinned and took another spoonful of mostly-liquid ice cream. "So where are you staying?"  
  
"I'm at the Best Western down the street," she said between her own mouthfuls, waving her spoon vaguely.  
  
He favored her with a disapproving frown, which he immediately dismissed with a wave. "Well, not anymore. You're staying with me."  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "Nick, that loft of yours only has one bedroom, and I really hate sleeping on your couch." She was *not* going to think about how that last sentence could be taken, she was *not* going to think...  
  
Fortunately, Nick didn't seem to notice. "I'm not staying in the loft anymore. And besides, who said you had to take the couch?" He was *not* going to think about how that last sentence could be taken, he was *not*... "I *like* sleeping on my couch," he amended.  
  
Natalie decided to get off the thin ice while she could. "Why did you move? Your place was huge."  
  
"Exactly. It was too big, now that I really do have to live on a cop's salary."  
  
"No longer rich anymore?" Natalie smiled teasingly. "What happened to the Brabant Foundation?"  
  
"I had to give up the 'Brabant' name when I crossed back over to humanity, along with... a lot of other things." He smiled a little too quickly.  
  
"Are you sure?" She still looked pretty hesitant, and for a moment, Nick wondered if he was pressuring her. But then he saw something in her expression that reassured him somehow, and he baited her just a little more.  
  
"Come on. It'll be fun." He smiled temptingly. "I even learned how to cook..."  
  
He was rewarded by seeing her face relax. "Really?" She laughed. "Well now, this I have to see."  
  
****  
  
"Wow." Natalie surveyed Nick's new apartment with approval. Admittedly, it wasn't as big as the loft, but it had definite style, with all the knick- knacks she knew, plus some hanging plants here and there. And windows. Big *big* windows, with a fair view of the sunset. If he really did buy this with a cop's salary, she was impressed. She smiled back at Nick as he was hanging up their coats. "If you ever decide to leave the force, Nick, I'm sure you'd have a bright future ahead of you as an interior decorator."  
  
He snorted, and helped Natalie move her things into the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway on his way out. "Feel free to anything in the fridge, coffee's in the cabinet above the sink..."  
  
"Shoving off on me?"  
  
Nick smiled. "I'm beat, and unlike some ex-coroners, *I* have to go to work in the morning." At Natalie's saddened face, he added, "I have to find someone to cover for me for the next week or so."  
  
"Why not just take a few days' worth of sick leave? I'm sure your captain wouldn't mind..."  
  
He looked at her tolerantly. "Natalie, I am the captain."  
  
Umm... what? "Oh."  
  
He grinned at her stunned expression. "I'll take that as a compliment. See you in the morning."  
  
"Nick?" When he turned back to look at her from the doorway, she wore an unreadable expression, and spoke softly, "You'll tell me about... this," and her gesture seemed to include all of his aging body, "tomorrow."  
  
He still hesitated, but finally nodded. "As much as I can."  
  
***  
  
Nick stopped to check on Natalie before he walked out the door the next morning. Just to make sure she didn't need anything. Mmm-hmm. He'd already written a note telling her where the food and plates were, he'd only be gone for a few hours, and how much coddling did he think she needed, anyway? It still amazed him how easily he could still hear her voice in his head, even after all these years.  
  
All right, so he was really going in to look at her, really *look* at her, just one last time before he had to go. So many things about her amazed him now, not the least of which was the fact that she had returned, when he'd been certain she would never come back in the time he had left. He'd resigned himself to never seeing her again, and he couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her reappear in his life now, while he was still a healthy man. She couldn't have known, of course, but he was still illogically grateful.  
  
Her hair was longer, and seemed darker somehow, though with the amount of sun she must be getting compared to before she left the night shift behind, it should surely be lighter. She usually kept it away from her face in a long braid, like the one she wore now. Not the best thing to have in a fight, giving your opponent something so tempting to grab, but undoubtedly better than simply having her hair loose and blocking her view. The only other option was cutting it off, and that was something literally unimaginable to him.  
  
Her face was leaner, harder, even as she slept. He'd always thought he brought so much hardship to her life when he rose from her autopsy table and barged into her life; he'd never imagined she'd live to see an even harder life than the one he had thrust upon her. But she was strong, stronger than almost anyone he knew, and it seemed fitting somehow to see that strength reflected physically, for all to see.  
  
And she was *here*, here before him. That was what truly stunned him. That she could have appeared back in his life so abruptly, as if she never left...  
  
But she had left. He clenched and unclenched his hand in front of him, feeling the barest hint of pain in the bottom joint of his thumb. He didn't need Natalie's medical knowledge to know in a few years it would blossom into full-blown arthritis, just as he knew the twinge at the base of his spine from sleeping on the couch would only get worse. And in the end, it would be Natalie who would never know wrinkles or arthritis or slipped disks or broken hips... and now that the situation was here, Nick couldn't say that he would change a thing. He'd opposed Natalie's decisions about her immortality before... no, let's be honest. It wasn't just a disagreement. He'd rejected her, and told her that if she killed to keep her immortality instead of simply remaining on holy ground, she'd become the same kind of soulless thing that he had believed himself to be.  
  
It was just that... he'd always assumed he'd have control, he'd be able to take action, that if her life came into danger of becoming like his, he'd be able to do something about it. He'd be able to prevent it. But this, her immortality, was something so completely out of his control, and he felt as if he'd failed. Again. It was a disappointment he couldn't handle, and he took out his anger at himself on the one person he shouldn't have.  
  
But that was a long time ago. A lifetime, to be exact. Many things had changed since then, and now... now he was glad that she would live. No more, and no less. A simple warm assurance that her voice, her eyes, her life would still be here when he was gone. He smiled faintly and wondered what Lacroix would say.  
  
But he was late, it was time to go. He'd be back in a few hours. Nick closed the bedroom door softly and locked the apartment door behind him on his way out.  
  
****  
  
"Nick, do you have any idea how old those Spaghetti-O's in your cabinet are? You could probably donate them to the Natural History Museum," Natalie cheerfully called out as soon as she heard the door slam.  
  
"Well, I never promised the food would be edible, just that it exists." Nick took one sniff as he entered the kitchen. "This is not my food."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Investigator, there being no tin cans about, however did you guess? I went on a grocery run a couple hours ago, once I saw the state of your refrigerator." She smiled over her shoulder as she stirred the spaghetti sauce. "Now go make yourself useful and set the table."  
  
During dinner they chatted about the inconsequentials... shop talk, of a sort. Natalie asked him about his work now, the increase of crime in the city while she was gone; during dessert, it was catching up on old friends. Captain Reese, sadly, had died two years ago of a heart attack that no one saw coming. Tracy was married and had a daughter, Melissa. She would turn three in September. At Natalie's unspoken question, Nick's only reply was "I don't know where Vachon is." He shrugged helplessly. "I kind of... lost touch."  
  
"Nick...?"  
  
"Natalie..." He opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly shut it and rose to begin clearing the table. She caught his hands.  
  
"Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm not a stranger, Nick, you know that." At the honest concern in her eyes, Nick let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He nodded, and motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen.  
  
"Come on. I'll wash, you dry."  
  
****  
  
"First of all, I can't tell you exactly how I became mortal. I'm sorry."  
  
Natalie tried to squash down her screaming curiosity, and merely frowned. "Why?"  
  
"They still watch me, even now. I barely survived the Enforcers the first time; the moment I betray that secret, I and anyone I told would be immediately destroyed." Natalie whipped her head around, alarmed, and Nick smiled. "Don't worry, they don't really care anymore what I do, as long as this one secret dies with me." She noted the 'they'. Not 'us'.  
  
"How *did* you survive the Enforcers? I can't imagine how they would let you live once you'd become mortal again. You could have destroyed them, their whole way of life."  
  
"I..." Nick's eyes clouded over momentarily, but cleared as he looked back at her. "I'm sorry. I just don't know where to begin. It's a long story."  
  
She pulled her feet up on the couch where they sat, and smiled softly. "You know what they say, Nick; start at the beginning."  
  
"The beginning. I guess that would be when you left." He kept his eyes firmly on the floor in front of him, reliving the past as he had so often before. "Funny that that should be the beginning, since it felt so much like the end." He smiled to himself. "When you left, I... gave up. On a lot of things. I stayed in the loft, even at night, and wouldn't let anyone in. I fed, I slept. I painted a little. But... mostly I spent my time going from one fit of rage to another. I practically destroyed the loft... I broke everything I could get my hands on. I just... didn't care. What you see here," he pointed at the walls and the endtables, "is all that survived unbroken. My friends, my job, my life, it just seemed like none of it really mattered anymore. Nothing was worth the effort."  
  
"That is, until Janette came back."  
  
"She came back?" Natalie remembered when Nick's elegant vampiric sister had just disappeared, with only instructions that Nick not look for her. No explanation, no trace. "Did she say where she had gone?"  
  
"I never asked. We didn't really talk about it." His mouth twitched, but when he looked back at her, he was smiling through it all. "She was wonderful. She brought me back, out of the depths I'd fallen to. She cared about me when I didn't care about myself, and convinced me that there really was something worth living for." Nick paused, his eyes lost in those memories. "If she hadn't returned when she did... I don't know where I'd be right now. Or even if I'd be alive."  
  
"You went back. To vampirism." He looked startled, but the statement was made without accusation, without anger. Maybe that's what he was startled about. He hadn't thought she'd understand... but she did; both the statement, and the reaction.  
  
"Yes. I went back, moved in with Janette after a year. For once, the idea that the cure might never be found was... tolerable. I would still search, I would always search, but now it wasn't an all-or-nothing bid. For the first time, I gave myself the option of failure." His face twisted again. "Of course, with my luck, it was when I stopped looking that mortality fell into my lap."  
  
"The Enforcers were not pleased..."  
  
***  
  
The thick metal door of the warehouse basement slid open, and two bound forms were shoved through. Janette fell heavily on Nick, and heard his gasp of pain. He was still unused to mortal frailties.... Janette still wasn't sure how she felt about that. Therefore, she didn't think about it.  
  
She rose and helped Nick up, or as best she could with her hands tied firmly behind her back. Enforcers were getting better with their knots these days. As they stood, a voice appeared before them.  
  
"Hello. My name is Oreleus." A young man, no more than twenty-five in appearance, with neatly combed black hair and crisp clothes, was seated at the table in front of them. There were two chairs on their side, straight- backed but functional. What caught their attention was the two long wooden stakes lying innocently in the middle. But the boy was speaking again. "Please, sit. We have much to do between now and sunrise."  
  
"What are you going to do with us?" Nick's voice rasped in his chest, and Janette dared not consider what injuries he might have sustained fighting them on the way here. As it was she barely looked at him. His torn and bleeding face was not something she wanted to remember.  
  
The Enforcer made no attempt to hide the truth from them, quirking an eyebrow at the question as if surprised that they needed to ask. "Why, kill you, of course." He motioned toward the stakes, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at their denseness. "What, did you think these were for show?"  
  
"He's mortal, not a vampire. Why do you need a stake?" She really didn't care, but the longer he talked, the longer they lived.  
  
"I don't really, but it is what we're most skilled at, and it will kill our little converted friend just as thoroughly as anything else."  
  
"You will NOT!" The door was flung open, and Lacroix came storming through, eyes flaring red, as furious as even Janette had ever seen him. For a moment she thought he might bodily throw the youngster through the wall, but he came to a halt just in front of him.  
  
The other was completely unperturbed, and simply rose to greet him. "Lucius." He smiled without smiling. "It's good to see you again."  
  
Nick and Janette exchanged glances. This was no youngster.  
  
"You will release my children *immediately*." Lacroix had lowered his voice, but his eyes were still pools of crimson and his tone could dampen the sun.  
  
The Enforcer laughed, obviously either highly invulnerable or highly stupid. "No. Lucius, you've been coddled far too much over the centuries. Your son is worse. An example must be made. You don't have the strength to stop me."  
  
Lacroix raised himself up to his full height, several inches above the other. "There are those with more strength than you, and they have promised me my children's safety. They will be... displeased at the realization that they have broken their word."  
  
The Enforcer glared with pure hatred, only to have the expression vanish without a trace. "No. Your... agreement," you could just hear the covered hiss of 'bribery', "was made to save *one* of your offspring, should he or she discover a method to achieve irreversible mortality." He gestured toward the seated pair. "Here you see two."  
  
Nick couldn't help but stare. Lacroix had bargained with the Enforcers for his life, in case he ever became mortal? Against everything he believed in? How was that possible? He'd been sure that Lacroix would simply allow him to die, as a sort of punishment for defying him. Or at least succeeding in defying him, anyway. The idea that Lacroix could even allow himself to conceive of his own failure was difficult to believe, but to go so far as to act on it? Had he really convinced LaCroix that much of his eventual success in finding mortality? But the two were still speaking.  
  
"Janette is a *vampire*," LaCroix insisted. As if it were more than just a physical state... and isn't it? "She would never become mortal. She can tell you that herself."  
  
"She still KNOWS, LaCroix!" Oreleus' fist made cracks in the plastic table. "She was there when it happened, the knowledge exists in *both* of them! I don't care if neither tells a soul, the danger *still* EXISTS!"  
  
Oreleus stood a long moment, composing himself. Watching LaCroix, watching his children. Calculating. "But I will bargain with you, LaCroix." The Enforcer pursed his lips and paced a moment, turning abruptly to face him. "One of them may live."  
  
He suddenly stepped quickly forward and grabbed one of the stakes, thrusting it into LaCroix's hands.  
  
"But you will choose the one who dies."  
  
A chill settled over LaCroix's heart as he stared at the stake in his hand. He looked up to the eyes of his children, who sat mutely; they seemed as stunned by this sudden turn as he.  
  
Oreleus whispered again, "You have to choose."  
  
Choose? Janette watched him impassively, her black hair falling down into her face, her sculpted features betraying nothing of what was going through her mind. They were so alike, words seemed unnecessary. So precisely in tune, even when their purposes conflicted. His beautiful, perfect daughter... who reminded him so much of Selene, at times it frightened him.  
  
And Nicholas. Always Janette's opposite, from his golden hair to the expression of open agony that weighed his face. He looked as if he were actually feeling LaCroix's pain. Certainly that was how his own face would look, if he allowed it. Nicholas... Nicholas was simply everything he was not: fiery when he was cold, passionate when he was reserved, chaos to his order.  
  
His inner thoughts were bitter, as the wood in his hand began to splinter under the strain he placed on it. *Which do you choose, old man? Your image or your other half? Which to cut off, your right arm or your left?*  
  
*Which to kill? Your daughter?*  
  
*Or your son?*  
  
Helplessly, his perception seemed to fade away as he retreated somewhere very far away, a place where perhaps love could be weighed, measured, tallied, and placed on a scale to see which side tipped. He didn't know where he would find such a place; part of him hoped he never would.  
  
Yet it was in this blackness, these depths, that a third alternative arose. *Why yes, of course. How very simple.* The idea was daring. Bold. Maybe even passionate. Nicholas would be proud.  
  
He raised the stake high...  
  
... and sent it hurtling toward his own heart.  
  
****  
  
The stake never reached its target. A hand snaked out at the last minute and caught the wood before it ever pierced flesh. "Ah, Lucius," The Oreleus' voice was smooth as silk, and twice as mocking, "still ever the noble soul, I see. You truly have an Achilles' Heel with these two, don't you?" He looked hard into LaCroix's eyes, and said flatly, "If you don't choose one of them, both will die. No one will bother to remember any promises made, if you aren't there to refresh their memory. Besides," he commented over his shoulder as he walked back to his chair to watch, "this will do you good. Weaknesses are best confronted head-on, don't you think?"  
  
LaCroix pondered burying the stake in the Enforcer's heart. Then he pondered exactly how many inches he would get before the other stopped him and killed him for his impudence. He ground his teeth slightly and remembered why he heartily despised all vampires more powerful than he.  
  
****  
  
Janette had watched Oreleus hand LaCroix the stake without comment or expression. Perhaps because she didn't want to unduly influence his decision. Perhaps because she didn't know what that decision would be. Or maybe she did know, and was trying to pretend it didn't matter. Trying to tell herself it was the right decision, and for the best. Maybe it was only because she was slowly but surely loosening the knots at her wrists, and didn't want to get distracted.  
  
Whatever the reason, she watched him calmly as he raised the stake in front of her, and looked directly into his eyes. Eyes she had avoided thus far, because she knew what she would see there. His face was safe, passionless as usual, but his eyes... just before the stake began its downward slide, his eyes rose to meet hers.  
  
And what she saw there shook her to the bone. But not for the reasons she thought. She screamed, "NO!" and attempted to lunge out of her chair to bodily knock the stake away from him, but she didn't have the proper leverage, and fell heavily back on the chair.  
  
But her shout had been enough warning for Oreleus, who moved faster than even she could see. She barely heard his words as she stared at LaCroix, her expression now anything but impassive.  
  
She attacked the knots at her wrists with as much ferocity as she wrestled with her incredulity. How could this be? Could he actually not choose between them?  
  
Even she knew who LaCroix's favorite was, and had never envied Nicola the position. She had lived for two hundred years as LaCroix's only daughter, and by the end of that time she had welcomed the transfer of his obsessions. The role of the lesser child had afforded her more freedom and more liberties than even most mortals of her time. No, she had never once maligned Nicola for being first in LaCroix's eyes, even in her thoughts.  
  
It was impossible. She had known LaCroix for what seemed like all her life. She knew the way he thought, his drives, his secrets, and almost all his weaknesses. All except the one most important to her, the one she should have seen a long time ago.  
  
LaCroix was a survivor. He prized his life, his existence, above all things, save Nicola. He could watch famine, plague, and bloodshed without comment, much less action. Yet he went into a rage at the mere idea that his son might become mortal, and lost to him. He would kill a man in an instant, if he threatened his existence; he could not tolerate weakness in himself, nor even the *idea* of weakness. Yet he made bargains and pleaded for the assurance of a single man's life.  
  
A man does not love that way twice. Not in a thousand years.  
  
He had lived two.  
  
Janette would have laughed in a man's face, if he'd told her LaCroix would die to save her. She would have laughed, and then she would have killed him. Had she not seen it with her own eyes. Even now, she couldn't help watching him, staring as if she'd never seen him before. Perhaps she never had.  
  
*With knowledge comes strength.* Yes, LaCroix, you were right. You were always right.  
  
And Janette made her own mind, as she always had.  
  
She watched Nicola for one long moment. On the one hand, he was so pivotal... but on the other, this had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.  
  
She then turned back to LaCroix as the knots about her wrists finally loosened, and were undone. Remaining still for the moment, she watched LaCroix's face as the walls he built around himself were breaking, and his torn emotions began to leak through.  
  
She couldn't shape what was running through her mind, couldn't put words to them, not even to herself. She didn't try. She looked at LaCroix's face, and her eyes brimmed over with tears she'd never known existed.  
  
*Thank you, father.*  
  
So wrapped up in his own thoughts was he, that LaCroix never saw in her mind what she was planning. That one last thought snapped him out of his own reverie.  
  
But in the instant it took for him to come back to himself, Janette leapt from her chair, snatched up the second stake, and plunged it into her own heart.  
  
He was too late.  
  
***  
  
And Natalie held Nick in her arms as he cried. 


	4. Part 4

Time To Spare, Part 4  
  
"Nick, do you like your eggs over hard or over easy?"  
  
"Mmcmmcmmnphmm." Nick's voice could barely be heard over the crackle of the skillet, even though his bed on the couch was only a couple yards away. He'd fallen asleep around one in the morning, after several hours' more talking. It was only when Natalie could make him laugh again that she finally felt sure that he would be all right, and could let him sleep.  
  
But even so, he'd been unconscious for ten hours. The two of them didn't do the night shift anymore, and she didn't want to start now. It was time to get up.  
  
"Nick?" The blanket was pulled over his head in a most decisive manner.  
  
Natalie sat down gingerly on the edge of a cushion and carefully peeled back a corner of the blanket till his face was peeking out. "Nick." One of his eyes propped open. "Your eggs. Squished or unsquished?"  
  
He sighed, but it turned into a yawn halfway through. "Squished. Coffee?" Natalie wished she could bottle that little-boy pout.  
  
"Oh no. You buy one of those weird little espresso things, *you* get to make the coffee. And make me a cup too, while you're at it." Nick mock- grimaced and tried to hide under the covers again. "*No*," Natalie cried, laughing as she ripped the covers completely off him. "Come on and get up. The sun is shining. We're going out."  
  
His sigh came out a half-groan as Nick dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Okay, okay, I'm up." He staggered into the kitchen and started the coffee going, more by touch than anything else.  
  
He turned and paused for a moment to inspect first the eggs, and then Natalie, in turn. "I have been known to cook my own food, you know."  
  
She wore a wry smile as she flipped the eggs expertly. "Recall that I've *seen* you cook. I prefer not to test the bounds of immortality, thanks."  
  
Nick snorted and fiddled again with the coffeemaker, causing even more horrid noises to come out of it. "Oh, come on. That was only the one time, and you *said* you wanted something new..."  
  
Natalie paused as she went fishing for plates to favor him with her patented 'I cannot *believe* you' look. "Pouring twenty different spices on a fish and then setting it on fire is not 'new', Nick."  
  
Nick was the picture of innocence as he reached for two cups, only to have Natalie hand them to him instead. "Thanks... my point is, I don't experiment anymore. I use recipes."  
  
"*Valid* recipes?"  
  
He handed her the forks and knives, produced from who-knew-where in his maze of a kitchen, gifting her with a reassuring smile as he did. "Off of boxes and everything."  
  
Natalie took her fork and knife and contemplated. "Well... all right, I'll watch you cook dinner tonight." She speared her first bite of egg and waggled it at him, threatening. "But if I catch you sneaking any red pepper flakes, we're eating out."  
  
****  
  
*All right, lesson number one: you can't pack a gap of twenty years into a day.* Natalie cast one longing look at the street behind her. "Nick, do you remember when you ran that red light, in the middle of the afternoon in broad daylight? That was right over there. That intersection *right* there."  
  
Nick walked ahead of her toward the park, anxious to be able to sit down, even if it was on the ground. He limped slightly as he walked, unused to being on his feet for six hours straight anymore. "Yes, Natalie," he replied with exaggerated patience, "and you got a flat tire two blocks down, bought some cat food for Sidney at the pet store around the corner, and..." he caught her hurt look, and sighed, laughing softly as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know the total recall's a little disconcerting at first. It happened to me, too."  
  
Natalie trotted to catch up to him, shaking her head thoughtfully. "And here I thought I'd figured everything out about this immortality thing... I fooled myself into believing there'd be no more surprises."  
  
Nick raised his eyebrows, and smiled. "There will always be surprises, Nat. Be it twenty years or a thousand, life always manages to remain interesting."  
  
They reached the green grass of the park, and Nick got hardly six feet away from the pavement when he collapsed onto the grass, barely pausing to take off his shoes before laying out on the comfortable carpet of green. Natalie continued, "How did you stand it? Remembering everything? I'd been told about the recall, but even still, I suppose I never expected it to be this... intense, when I came back to a place I knew. This city seems to be literally crawling with memories at every turn. Maybe I was just unconsciously avoiding places I'd been before. Still, it's eerie, like having your whole life flashing before your eyes."  
  
"To be honest? You just have to get used to it." Nick sighed in contentment as he slid into a more comfortable position on the grass. Given the opportunity, he could fall asleep right now...  
  
"But you never did." It was neither a question nor an accusation; her tone was soft and unassuming. "Did you?" She knew his answer before he even turned his head to look at her.  
  
He smiled faintly. "No. I never did." He looked down at his hands, fingering the new creases here and there. He raised one up to her. "This," and she knew it was his mortality he was speaking of, "is obviously one of the better reasons why I could put the past behind me. But the best by far was that I was allowed to finally, *finally* forget, even for just a moment..."  
  
Natalie tried to imagine living so long, when every movement, every speech, every event had been done before, and could be linked to his failures, all seven hundred years' worth of them... she shuddered and blamed it on the wind sweeping through the trees nearby. "How much do you remember now?"  
  
"Oh, I *can* remember most things. A few of the less memorable decades may have passed by the wayside," his wry smile was infectious, "but the difference is that now I don't *have* to remember; I'm not compelled to anymore. Which helps more than you might think."  
  
"That, and not having talked... not even having been in the *presence* of a vampire... in nearly twenty years, made it downright easy." Nick's eyes were still closed, and he was smiling, just a tiny bit. Without being able to see his eyes, Natalie couldn't tell if it was a true smile or not.  
  
"Were there really so many bad memories, that you had to reject them all?" She didn't think about what she was saying until the words had already left her mouth, and she couldn't take them back. "Oh god, Nick, I'm sorry..."  
  
He looked up at her, startled by her reaction, not the question, and quickly shook his head. "No, it's okay." He sighed. "The truth is, I *couldn't* go back. There were two... additional... consequences to the bargain for my life. The first I already told you about, that I could never tell anyone how I came back. They *still* watch, waiting for the chance to finish what they'd started, to kill me and be done with it. But I won't give them the satisfaction... remaining alive and mortal is the only vengeance I'm allowed." His expression was still lighted with that peaceful calm he'd found somewhere along his way, but this time his eyes sparked with a defiance that she remembered very well indeed. But there was a difference. In his powerlessness, he'd learned patience. And that patience was a power in and of itself...  
  
"The second consequence was that I had to separate myself from the Community forever. No contact of any kind. That was why I hadn't heard from Vachon... I don't know what happened to him. I couldn't even ask Tracy. And she, of course, never talked about him unless I brought it up, even before."  
  
"Nick, you don't have to talk about it..."  
  
He cut her off. "Yes, I *do* need to talk about it!" He raised himself up into a sitting position so she could see full-on his earnest expression. "Nat, do you realize how hard it's been to have something like this happen, and not to be able to tell anyone? Not to be able to talk to anyone at all? When Janette died, I had to pretend I caught a bad flu. I took a week's worth of sick leave, but after that I had to just walk back in to work and pretend that everything was all right." He took her hands and gave them a light squeeze as his face relaxed into a relieved smile. "To be able to talk about it, just to have someone there to listen, lightens the load so much, I can't tell you."  
  
"Well then, don't." Natalie replied decisively. At Nick's confused look, she smiled ironically. "Nick, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere for a while, and I can stay as long as you need me to. You don't have to try to get it all out in a day. Trying to force yourself to heal is like trying to force the grass to grow... it might make you feel like you're doing something, but that doesn't mean it's a good way to expend energy. Besides," she added with a mock-irritated frown, "I've been trying to keep your mind off your troubles all day, and I'm certainly not going to let you off the hook when we're in the home stretch, so... come on." She abruptly stood and held out a hand to help him up.  
  
He looked up at her so sorrowfully, she almost let him lie. "I have to stand?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"On my feet?"  
  
"That *is* usually the way."  
  
Nick raised himself painfully to his feet (Natalie was positive he was exaggerating, he couldn't be hurting *that* bad) and picked up his shoes, declaring, "I'm going barefoot," as if he thought she might challenge the notion.  
  
She merely smiled innocently. "That's fine. We'll stick to the grass," and they started off.  
  
"So where are we going?"  
  
"I thought I heard running water coming from somewhere around here, like from a creek of some kind. I thought we might go check it out." One corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "You think you can find out where it's coming from, Mr. Investigator?"  
  
He snorted in laughter, mimicking her expression. "I think I can handle that."  
  
***  
  
Natalie dressed as quietly as she could the next morning. Once again, she'd woken at the crack of dawn and couldn't go back to sleep. At least this morning she didn't have to worry about waking Nick... she'd managed to convince him to sleep in his own bed last night. He protested, of course, but she could tell he'd practically be ready for traction if he tried to sleep on that couch another night. She blamed the couch, but she knew it was the body that was really too old to sleep there.  
  
So she took a couple bagels out of the fridge, snatched her coat off the rack, and slipped quietly out the door to watch the sun rise. It was dangerous, she could be spotted and recognized at any time. She knew that. Many of her friends had apparently moved away since she'd left, as people tend to do over time, but there were enough still here to make going out of doors unwise. She'd pushed her luck as far as it would go yesterday, running around all over town, she should know better than to push it any further. But Nick had needed something to distract him from his memories, and sitting at home twiddling his thumbs was anything but distracting.  
  
This morning? It was really too early to see many people, the odds weren't that bad. So, as long as she was up, she might as well go out and watch the sun rise.  
  
Mmm-hmm. Never mind the fact that she was walking back to the park, back to the green grass and trees and birds singing. Never mind it took her an hour and a half to get there. She found the tree she'd spotted last night, a monster of a thing, gnarled and tangled. She climbed high enough to see the horizon, where the sky was slowly brightening. Lazily she stretched out along the wide limb, rested her head on her hands and watched the hazy mountains in the distance. She sighed softly as the calm penetrated her soul. *Oh Natalie, you really are spoiled for life...*  
  
The truth was, she wasn't sure why she came here. No, that's not true. Nick had been through so much... she sighed. And as usual, she'd taken his pain and made it her own, like she had so many times before. She needed some time to herself, to get back a little equilibrium. Or a lot of equilibrium, she decided, as she watched the mist start to fade with the first rays of the morning sun. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't found the sunrise the most peaceful thing in all the world.  
  
Actually, yes she could, because the reason for that sense of peace rose to the forefront of her mind like the dew rising from the grass below...  
  
****  
  
"Come on, love, time to get up." Usually the sound of Adam Pierson's voice alone was enough to bring a smile to her face, but at five o'clock in the morning? It didn't even come close.  
  
"Unnnhhhh... uh-uh."  
  
"You have to get up now, or we're going to be late." This only prompted her to wrap her pillow around her head. He stared at her limp form for a moment, frowning. Then he shrugged lightly, picked her up, and hefted her onto his shoulder. Steadying himself, he started resolutely for the bathroom, talking all the while. "Not to worry, a nice cold shower will be just the thing to *aieech*!"  
  
Because poor Natalie, unused to waking up upside down, had grabbed hard onto the nearest solid object available, that being Adam's rear end. This startled him, predictably, and he stumbled a step. This panicked a still- half-asleep Natalie even further, and she proceeded to throw her arms completely around Adam's waist and hold on for dear life.  
  
Unfortunately, this only served to upset Adam's balance in the other direction, and the two went tumbling in a heap of arms and legs, Natalie taking the brunt of Adam's fall.  
  
In an instant he was off the floor and bending over her, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Natalie? Are you all right?"  
  
She cracked one eye open to look up at Adam, and was disappointed to only find one of him. If there'd been two, she could have considered killing one. Well, you don't get everything. She slowly sat up. "Ow. Ow. Owwwww... okay, I think I'm up. Or dead. Ow. Did you say something about being late?" She was gently moving everything to make sure it was all in working order.  
  
"We told Karen we'd go to her poetry reading at eight, remember? And it's across town, so..." Adam was unabashedly wearing his little smile that ran the gamut from sarcastic to amused, depending on his mood. She knew which one this was; his sense of humor seemed to get more twisted the longer she knew him.  
  
"Don't laugh, that hurt!" She attempted a frown... badly... and smacked the side of his head as she made her own way to the bathroom, thinking up proper tortures for one twenty-five hundred year old smart-aleck Immortal.  
  
"So where is this place again?" she called out as she waited for the water to get hot.  
  
"Mmm... El Kharim, or some such. At any rate, it's clear on the other side of Cairo, and with the morning traffic what it is, it should take us at least an hour to get there." Adam silently tested the doorknob. Unlocked.  
  
Natalie ducked into the shower and started to get her hair wet. "Why is she having it all the way over there?"  
  
"I don't know," Adam's voice appeared right next to her, and her eyes snapped open to see him undressing on the other side of the curtain, "she said she liked the architecture." With a perfectly *wicked* smile.  
  
She raised one eyebrow as she took in the view. "I thought we were going to be late."  
  
He stepped in next to her and let her take the brunt of the spray, the water making rivers and pools across the curves and planes of her body while only barely misting on him, beading up all along his skin. He tried to catch her eyes, but she was busy tracing slow patterns of water on his chest with her fingers. "So we're late."  
  
Natalie glanced up from her work to look at his face. He was still smiling, as always, but this smile was... well, it was a smile she knew very well indeed, and returned. "You're impossible... and lucky I heal fast," she sighed luxuriously as she slid her arms around his neck and up to let her fingers run through his spiky hair.  
  
"Oh, I think I'm lucky for more reasons than *that*..." His lips brushed hers briefly as his hands found her waist and her fingers began to run up her spine.  
  
"Mmm... that's a nice beginning," Natalie smiled as she found his mouth again by pure touch. Adam chuckled, wrapping his arms more tightly about her as he stepped forward into the spray.  
  
"Then you should love the end." Oddly enough, kissing and laughing at the same time is actually much easier than it sounds.  
  
****  
  
"You were late. Was everything all right?"  
  
"Oh yes. Cairo traffic's just horrid in the mornings, isn't it, Natalie?" Any attempt to look repentant was just completely futile, which didn't help their story, but one had to give them points for effort.  
  
"Terrible."  
  
"Awful."  
  
"I was screaming in pain." Adam was abruptly consumed with a coughing fit, and Natalie changed the subject, smiling brightly at Karen. "But your poetry was beautiful. As always. I'm sorry we missed the beginning."  
  
Karen didn't look the least bit fooled, but wasn't really upset about it. Trying to get those two out of bed anytime before noon required a major concerted effort, and she knew it. "That's all right, I'll read them to you again sometime." She smiled.  
  
Karen Hunter was the first immortal Natalie met when she came to Egypt. Which was fortunate, as neither she nor Karen could speak a word of Arabic at the time, and a misunderstanding could have been disastrous. But as it turned out, the petite brunette was calm and funny, and it was no time before the two became fast friends.  
  
Someone came to collect Adam, apparently he had a phone call. Natalie smiled at his retreating back, then returned her gaze to Karen. "Let me take you out to dinner. My penance for being late."  
  
"Oh, you know how much I'd love to eat off you credit card," she laughed, "but Tom is taking me out on a congratulatory night on the town after this. He gets ridiculously proud of me at these things ever since I told him how nervous I get in front of an audience..." Rolled her eyes in annoyance, which vanished when said Tom appeared, a tall, lanky man with black hair and laughing eyes.  
  
They had been married eighty-four years, Karen said... a rare commitment, according to Adam, even for immortals. *Because in the end, there can be only one.* As simple as it was final. She was really starting to hate the phrase.  
  
***  
  
"Adam Pierson."  
  
"Methos?" The voice roared into his ear, and he yanked the phone away a couple inches. "Hey, it's Joe, how you doin'?"  
  
Methos looked up at the ceiling for a little help. If anybody looked back down at him, he or she had obviously already decided it would be *far* more amusing to just let him run around and make his own messes. Correction, have other people drag him into *their* messes. As usual. He sighed. "Joe, you've managed to capture me away from home, which I'm not even going to ask how you did, because I'm certain I won't like the answer. But this means that we actually have a real phone, with a real connection and everything. You don't have to shout."  
  
"Oh. Heh. Sorry." Seeing how Joe's volume had lowered considerably, Methos switched the receiver to his other, unflattened eardrum, and fiddled with the cord as he talked.  
  
"So, who's in trouble now?"  
  
"Actually, you are." Joe's tone was slightly hurt and slightly smug. Methos wondered if telephones always conveyed that much tone. If so, his little cordless was more dead than he thought. He wondered if he should buy a new one here or in the States. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what the conversion rates were anymore... wait a minute. "What?"  
  
"Somebody broke into the European Watcher Headquarters a few months back. Since then, they've been going through their files, checking to see what was missing." Methos grimaced, and nodded to himself. That was the thing about Watchers, they were as meticulous and thorough as anyone could wish for, if one wishes for such things. But given an emergency, they were slow, slow, *slow*. It didn't surprise him a bit that it took them a couple months just to figure out what was taken.  
  
If they'd just bothered to join the twentieth century and put it on computer... no, actually, let's not go there. Tried that before, remember? Nearly got the entire Immortal community exposed as a newsflash on the bloody BBC. Between that little joyride and the latest episode, which managed to decimate most of the world's highest-ranking Watchers, not to mention nearly killed Joe and spun Duncan off into one of his self- destructive phases, taking Methos along with him...yes, he'd twisted the Watchers' collective skirt enough to last a couple lifetimes. Certainly longer than Adam Pierson would be around. The fact that they'd got a nice twist in his skirts as well made the decision to leave that much easier. But it was how angry he was at himself that set off the big neon signs saying it was time to get the hell out of there and calm down for a while. Despising yourself got very unhealthy if you did it too long, and if his natural equilibrium was *that* far off kilter... well, he'd left for smaller things, that's for sure.  
  
Meeting up with Natalie had originally just been a timely bonus. She had needed someone to teach her, and he'd been available... he owed it to Nicholas anyway, for not telling him she was Immortal when they met for the first time. And if Natalie's watcher decided to tell Headquarters that a decidedly ex-mild-mannered ex-grad-student and ex-Watcher Adam Pierson was living with an Immortal and teaching her to fight... he really wished he could be there to see the looks on their faces. Impotent rage did such interesting things to the blood vessels at the temples. He couldn't help smiling at his own little teeny tiny vicious streak. I mean really, happiness wasn't *always* a warm puppy...  
  
But Joe was still talking, and Methos felt like he just missed an important part of the conversation. "Hold on, what was that last bit?"  
  
"They found some research on the Methos Chronicles missing, especially the last couple sections. The part with Adam Pierson's signature."  
  
Methos hissed a curse. "Will someone please tell me when the Watchers decided to drop the 'secret' part from their 'secret organization'? 'Cause I'd really like to know."  
  
He could practically feel Joe's double-take. "You didn't keep the name Adam Pierson, did you?"  
  
"Natalie liked it, and I didn't think there could possibly be anything the Watchers would try to track me down for." It was a lame excuse, and he knew it. He hadn't been thinking. Damn damn *damn*.  
  
Joe didn't help. "What the hell were you thinking?! Didn't Kalas teach you anything?!?" Methos could just see Joe waving his free arm around as he thundered into the phone. This time he let his ear get flattened; he deserved it.  
  
Besides, he had to think. He chewed absently on a thumbnail, then spoke. "Joe, I'm getting on a plane to Paris. I need to know exactly what we're dealing with here."  
  
"You want me to meet you there?"  
  
Methos' voice was firm and decisive. "No. I want you to stay right where you are, and keep an eye on Natalie for me. Call me the minute anyone new comes into Cairo.."  
  
The pause on the phone was a little too long, before Joe's voice came in again, his soft tone contrasting the force of his words. "Tell me this means you had an attack of conscience and decided to tell her who and what you really are."  
  
One of his eyebrows slowly raised, and for once Methos wasn't smiling. First Alexa, now this. One would really think you'd learn to stay out of my personal life, Joe. "No."  
  
"And you're not taking her with you? Adam, if she still thinks you're Adam Pierson, two thousand five hundred year-old God-only-knows-what, she's not going to stand a chance if someone comes looking for you."  
  
Dammitall, do we really need to have this conversation *right now*? "Precisely! Joe, she's only forty years old," he growled, "which is why I'm getting as far away from her as possible. If I can lead this guy away, she'll be all right."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Joe, I have to leave. Now. If he's been on my trail for a couple months, he can't be too far behind. We've moved a couple times in the past few years, but not enough to make that much of a difference. I'll talk to you... when I talk to you." He hung up before Joe could finish his tirade, and stood with his hand on the phone for a moment longer than he had to. A moment longer before he had to go back and face Natalie.  
  
Other than his name and age, he'd never lied to Natalie. About anything. In a moment, that was going to change. He wasn't sure she would forgive him for this, when she found out the truth. He was fairly certain he wouldn't if he were her. But it had to be done. Come on, old man, do we have to go over the logic again for the thousand and first time?  
  
Yes. Because it will keep me in here a moment longer.  
  
Just one more moment.  
  
****  
  
Adam returned, making the tiniest glance toward the door as he walked. Natalie was wrapping up her conversation by the time he got within hearing distance, and by the time he reached her side, they were ready to go.  
  
She waited till they were back in their own apartment, just to be safe, before turning worried eyes on Adam. "Why are we leaving so early? What did you hear?"  
  
He tossed the car keys onto the endtable and tilted his head to look at her, wincing apologetically. "I have to go to Paris. As soon as possible."  
  
Natalie's brows instantly furrowed, trying to figure out what could be wrong in Paris. "What is it, what's happened?"  
  
He sighed and frowned just a little, rubbing his eyes with one hand in weariness. "Joe... I told you about Joe, right? Well, he's gotten himself in a bit of a jam. I need to go straighten it out."  
  
Natalie sat for a little while in silence. She was a little taken aback, but decided not to let it bother her. She also decided not to let the idea of Adam leaving bother her either. She could just hear Adam's reaction, with just the right kind of smile, the kind that would make her feel about a thousand percent better about all this. *Become quite the selfish little thing, haven't we?* Well, yes, frankly. "How long will you be gone?"  
  
She felt a hand on her cheek, and looked up to see Adam smiling gently, having just dragged an overnight bag out of the closet. "It'll only be for a few days. You won't even notice I'm gone."  
  
The side of her mouth quirked up against her will. "Buy me an electric blanket, and *then* I won't notice you're gone." She stood to help him pack his things.  
  
He smirked back and threw some clothes at her to stuff into the bag. "Just as long as it's an electric blanket with long toenails."  
  
"Oh, heaven. Remind me to get shin guards before you get back." That's the problem with having two people at once who need to have their hands busy... the work gets done twice as fast. Adam glanced at his watch, and looked back at her with a crestfallen expression.  
  
She sighed. "Yeah, yeah." She walked him to the door, then fidgeted, straightening the creases in his jacket. "Better miss me."  
  
A corner of his mouth turned up as his arms wrapped around her waist. "You'd kill me if I didn't."  
  
"You better believe it!" She tried strangling him with his coat, but he won the tussle with a kiss. Then another, deeper, as he wound his hand tightly in her hair.  
  
He pulled away, and his thumb gently caressed her temple. "Bye."  
  
"Bye." Then he was gone, and she shut the door with a sigh.  
  
Methos always told himself later that he couldn't have guessed his efforts would be futile. That he'd already been found. He couldn't have known what would happen.  
  
It never made him feel any better. 


	5. Part 5

Time To Spare, Part 5  
  
By the time Natalie came out of her reverie, the sun was full in the sky, though thankfully still very low on the horizon. Still, she'd have to move to get back to Nick's apartment before the streets got too crowded. Besides, Nick was probably up by now. She wished she'd left a note saying where she was going. Difficult, though, considering she didn't know where she was going... bah, let's get back to basics here. Get off the tree first, think later. She liked that idea.  
  
"Natalie?" Nick poked his head around the corner to see her hang her long trenchcoat carefully at the door, keeping the sword harness obscured in its folds and leaving no obvious bulges. She'd gotten quite good at it, purely by necessity. Another way to try to fit in. He knew the feeling. Since she didn't seem to have heard him, he watched Natalie scrutinize her coat a moment longer, then quietly intruded, "You can't see it."  
  
She started violently, spinning on one heel, and had her sword half out of her coat before she it dawned on her who had spoken. Then she just shook her head as she resheathed her sword, chuckling. "Nick, you scared half a decade off me."  
  
He smiled archly. "I think you have a few to spare."  
  
Natalie sat down next to him on the couch. To call it sinking into a boneless heap is more accurate, but less graceful. "Mmm... your turn to be the active one. I think I woke up too early this morning."  
  
"Well, it had to happen sometime." Nick rose and produced her blanket out of nowhere, draping it carefully over her. She cuddled appreciatively into her two-thirds of the sofa, and left Nick to warm her feet. Now that his body temperature was finally high enough that he *could* warm her feet, that is. Fortunately, he didn't seem to mind. "Where were you coming from, that your body was operating on such a strange sleep schedule?"  
  
She yawned hugely, and resolved not to fall asleep. She'd never get adjusted if she didn't stay awake. Mmm-hmm. It was just really comfy under this blanket... did Nick say something? Oh yeah. "I flew in out of Dublin, to this teeny little town about two hundred miles, er, that way. I think." Her hand snuck just far enough out of the covers to point vaguely in the direction of the hallway.  
  
"Natalie, that's in the middle of the Atlantic."  
  
"Oh. That way, then." She waved in the direction of the door, and slipped her hand back under the blanket.  
  
"Why'd you fly all the way out there?" He knew she was falling asleep, but couldn't help asking.  
  
Natalie opened her eyes to look wearily at him. "Because Immortals look at me, and they see a young one. A woman. An easy kill. That's the problem with these guys," she smiled, "none of them have heard of The Year of the Woman. And if they had, they wouldn't have believed it. Fourteenth century sensibilities in twentieth century culture... it's annoying as hell."  
  
But her smile faded. "I got tired of killing people, Nick. I wanted to go somewhere, even for just a little while, where I didn't have to be Immortal. Where I could just be me, and leave all the rest behind. Relax. For just a little while." Her eyes were starting to droop again. "Just a little while," she sighed, sinking back into the couch.  
  
Nick got up carefully, though he was sure Natalie wouldn't have woken if a grenade had gone off in the middle of the room. He brushed a few stray hairs off her cheek, tucked them behind her ear. "For as long as you want. As long as you need."  
  
****  
  
Natalie sighed in the midst of her dream. It was a nice dream, a warm dream. She was flying over mountains covered in forest, wall-to-wall greenery. They topped the crest of one of the higher mountains, to see an amazing vista of sparkling lakes and rivers. They? She turned to look beside her. Yep, there was Paul Hogan flying right next to her, same as always. He was saying something, probably chatting about the local wildlife or something, but as usual, she couldn't tell what he was saying, so she just turned back and watched the scenery. She supposed that this meant they were flying over some part of northern Australia. She'd never been to the north of Australia. It looked pretty.  
  
She never could figure out this dream.  
  
But it was a safe dream, one she'd had a thousand times before. So what on earth was the horrible screeching noise? It seemed to be coming from Paul. She wanted to ask him what kind of animal made that kind of noise, and where it lived, so they could fly down and put it out of its misery.  
  
Then she realized it was the smoke alarm, and woke up.  
  
Smoke was billowing out of the kitchen. Nick was shouting at the stove in what she assumed was some derivative of French, and attacking it valiantly with a fire extinguisher.  
  
Natalie got up, stretched, and by the time she'd reached the kitchen, Nick was sitting on the tiled floor with an empty canister. Half the room was covered in white dust, and there was a nice burn pattern around one of the larger pots. She leaned in and pulled out a mostly charred vegetable. She guessed it was an asparagus at some point.  
  
"Hi, Natalie. How was your nap?" She had to give him points for cheerfulness.  
  
She continued inspecting his stovetop. "I had the Paul Hogan dream again." She paused in her work to give him a sideways glance. "You've been busy. Grease fire?"  
  
"Yeah. I *can* cook."  
  
"Of course you can. Where do you want to go out?"  
  
He sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Let's open some windows, and we can talk about it."  
  
They settled on an Armenian place nearby that Nick had heard was good, but never tried yet. They mutually decided to hold off dinner until the apartment was clean and ventilated, but that alone took a good couple of hours, even with all the fans on, all the windows open, and a jumbo can of Ajax. But they finally did declare it Good Enough For Government Work, and hit the showers.  
  
"This isn't a formal place, is it?" Natalie called out from the bathroom.  
  
"I wasn't planning on dressing up. Besides, I didn't think you could fit a dress in that little pack of yours." It was pretty big thing to put on your back, but considering it held virtually all of her belongings at the moment, it was nothing.  
  
Natalie opened the door, already in jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. "Of course I can fit a dress in there. It's just a very *wrinkled* dress, that would set dinner back another half-hour. And since it's," she glanced at her watch, made a little squeak, "nine o'clock already, we better hurry and get there before they close outright."  
  
"I'm ready if you're ready."  
  
"Then we're off. Just let me get my coat."  
  
As the two stepped outside, Natalie unconsciously dug her hands into the pockets of her long trenchcoat and lifted her shoulders to protect her neck from the cool night air. They walked in silence a moment, then Nick turned to her. "So what were you doing in Dublin?"  
  
"Not Dublin, precisely. I lived about thirty miles out of town. I helped the local veterinarian for a few years in exchange for room and board." She shrugged slightly. "Nothing fascinating, mostly mending broken bones, vaccinations, and the occasional birthing cat. But you couldn't beat the countryside. Beautiful." Her smile lightened as she looked back at Nick. "Cold, but beautiful."  
  
"You've lived *here* most of your life, and you can't handle Ireland's cold?"  
  
Natalie snorted. "Not when I'm working all day outside, away from my nice warm heater, I can't! Besides," and her enthusiasm lowered considerably, "I lived in Cairo for a while. It spoiled me."  
  
Her eyes were staring ahead when they suddenly came into focus. "Hey, isn't that our place?"  
  
Nick couldn't quite see, so he replied helpfully, "That's it."  
  
"So, what do Armenians eat, anyway?"  
  
Nick didn't answer. Natalie finally glanced at him expectantly, and he shook his head. "Don't look at me. I'm not sure I could even place Armenia on a map."  
  
That earned him a wry smile. "Well, this could get interesting."  
  
Luckily, the food was excellent, heavy on the cous-cous and spicy meats. Doubly lucky, their meal was already finished when the belly dancers came out to play. Though the look on Nick's face was almost worth it. He always did have the greatest expressions when he was surprised. They got better when he was embarrassed.  
  
Natalie had just taken breath to laugh herself silly, when it all came out of her again in a whoosh as the Buzz hit.  
  
She quickly scanned the crowded restaurant, but the feeling faded before she could get a fix on it, which bothered her even more. It meant that the other Immortal already knew who she was and where she was without needing the fix.  
  
Which meant that he'd been watching her.  
  
She felt like a bucket of ice had been poured down her back. Nearly all the immortals she'd run into so far had been as she'd said: overconfident and looking for an easy kill. This one was obviously not making that mistake.  
  
Across the table, Nick's smile at the dancer next to him was full of trepidation. He looked to her for rescue.  
  
He didn't know what it was he was asking.  
  
***  
  
Nick took in Natalie's silence, her rush to leave the restaurant, and the hours of sword practice without a word. She'd tell him what was bothering her when she was ready. Knowing Natalie, if he tried to talk to her before then, she'd likely just snarl at him and continue working it off until she felt better. So he waited.  
  
Besides, he'd never watched her practice. She was quite good. Of course, his swordfighting skills were at least two hundred years rusty, and he'd never been up to Immortal standards, even at his prime. With a vampire's strength and hypnotism, he'd never had to rely on a sword for survival, so he never saw the need to perfect the art. But he could see just looking at her why some did. And why it was called an art.  
  
She spun effortlessly on one foot, landing into a crouch and cutting in the same motion, smoothly blocking an exposed shoulder, then another downward slice in the opposite direction as the first, and back a step to come in from a different angle. She never stopped moving, or made any one movement faster than any other. Each action flowed naturally into the next, and the next. For hours on end she shadowdanced, until her long hair was wet to the core, her clothes were soaked, and she'd nearly fallen twice. Only when she stumbled a third time did she finally stop and let her sword tip drop gently into its scabbard. And it was only then that she noticed he was watching.  
  
She tilted her head at him disapprovingly. "Nick, it's the middle of the night. You should really be asleep."  
  
"So should you. Want some coffee?" Nick was holding two mugs in his hands. Natalie made the tiniest glance at the kitchen to make sure it was still in one piece. Nick caught the glance and grinned as he handed her a mug. "No need to worry. There's no grease in coffee."  
  
She smiled slyly, with effort. "There's no grease in *my* coffee."  
  
"You didn't complain the first time I made some."  
  
But she just didn't have the heart to banter more. "You're right, I didn't," she sighed.  
  
"You want to talk about it?"  
  
Natalie's eyes looked old, old and sad when they reached his. "I felt the presence of another Immortal, but he got back out of range before we got a fix on each other. The only reason I can think of anyone not waiting to see who was near is if he already knew. And I don't know how he could have known I was near without the Buzz, unless he was watching me."  
  
Nick sat on the couch and pressed his clasped hands to his lips in thought. Finally he looked up to her and said, "Are you sure it wasn't a friend?"  
  
Natalie laughed without humor. "I don't have any Immortal friends." Seeing Nick's expression, she consciously brightened. "Not to worry, Nick. This just means I'll never have to worry about forgetting to send someone a birthday card. No big deal."  
  
"Not even a friend with a truly awful sense of humor?"  
  
Natalie's face tightened against her will. Dammit Nick, can't you leave this alone? "No." She took a big gulp of coffee, gasped as the hot liquid burned her throat. Then she took another. Maybe she could burn a hole in her larynx so she wouldn't have to say the words. Now there's an idea.  
  
But Nick was peering at her with worried eyes again. "You're sure you don't want to talk about it." Hell. He'd been pouring his guts out for the past few days, she really owed him the same trust. Besides, there had to be something therapeutic in it. Somewhere. Somehow. Right?  
  
She contemplated giving him the one-sentence version, just spitting it out and then going and hiding under the bed. Then she sighed and went to the kitchen to fetch the mostly-full coffeepot. She set it on the table in front of them. Refilled her cup. Refilled his cup, though he'd barely sipped his. He smiled at her, knowing a stall for what it was.  
  
Keeping her eyes on the rim of her cup, she began. "Adam and I were living in Cairo fourteen years ago... which is, let me think, six years after I left Toronto, which would make it 2002..."  
  
****  
  
(Funny how Methos was thinking about precisely that time period at precisely the same time, halfway around the world... must be true love. Or maybe they both just had too much Armenian that night.)  
  
Methos arrived in Paris late that night, late enough that all good little Watchers were snuggled tight in their beds. So he found a cheap and relatively clean room in the outside of the city, not too far from the vast grounds and mansion that made up the European Watcher Headquarters, and went to sleep, resolved to go over and figure out what was going on in the morning. He didn't know when Headquarters opened, but it didn't matter. He'd simply never had a need to find out. You see, Methos had a thing about alarms. He hated them. He went to bed when he was tired and got up when he wasn't, thank you very much, and didn't need some obnoxious little machine to tell him when that was.  
  
Unfortunately, that didn't stop obnoxious little people from doing the job instead, he grumbled to himself as he woke to someone pounding on the door, the poor thing rattling in its frame. "Coming!"  
  
He snatched some jeans off the chair, ran his hand through his hair so it only pointed in about five different directions, and opened the door, just as it was about to get pounded on again.  
  
Predictably, it was Duncan. The fact that Methos could come up with a snarky comment, less than two minutes out of a sound sleep, before Duncan MacLeod could even open his mouth was something he was actually proud of. "Let me guess. You're here to say 'I told you so.' Or, even better, 'I knew you'd get yourself in a great mess eventually, and I just wanted to be there to see it.'"  
  
Duncan snorted. "Quite a welcome you've got, there." He surveyed the room with a practiced eye, and took the only chair. "And I never say 'I told you so.'"  
  
"Duncan, you *constantly* say 'I told you so.' You just never say the words."  
  
Duncan shrugged. "You're worse about it than I am, anyway." Clueing in that Methos was being even more prickly than usual, he peered at the other skeptically. "So what's gotten into you? You can't be that upset about this Watcher business."  
  
Methos just watched him from the center of the room, his hands on his hips. "You really have no idea what time it is, do you."  
  
Duncan glanced at his watch, and instantly looked like he just sat on a scorpion. "Ow."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Forgot about the time change. Want me to come back later?" He was too bloody early, but at least he was contrite about it.  
  
Methos rubbed his face with his hands vigorously. "No, I was probably going to get up in a couple hours, anyway. It wouldn't be worth it to go back to sleep. Come on then," he dug a shirt out of his bag and pulled it on. "Let's go find some breakfast."  
  
As they walked to the nearest cafe, Methos watched the sun rise over the vineyards for a moment, and remembered why he missed France. Suddenly out of nowhere a car teetered around the curve, nearly flattening the pair of them as it took the turn at about twice the speed it should have. And Methos remembered why he left. "So, I take it Joe sent you."  
  
"He was worried."  
  
"He was *angry*," Methos corrected. "He was very *very* angry, and since I hung up on him and wouldn't let him come out here to cane me himself for my thoughtlessness, he sent you to do it for him." The two of them shared an amused glance. "Well, am I getting close?"  
  
"You're hitting more than you're missing, I'll give you that."  
  
"Joy."  
  
They walked along in silence a while longer. Good old Joe, he had to vent at somebody about Natalie, and Duncan was apparently the lucky winner. Which meant... Methos counted quietly in his head. Three... two... one...  
  
"So why *haven't* you told her what you are? Don't you think she deserves to know?" Hah! He just won a five dollar bet with himself. Part of him was highly annoyed. Another part was gloating. He reminded himself to pay himself when he got back to the room. He also reminded himself that he should really do something about this closet schizophrenia. Part of him told him to go to hell. He couldn't tell which part.  
  
But Duncan was still looking expectantly at him when he raised his eyes again. *His* mind could wander, but Duncan was still focused on the question. Well, fine then. "Did you ever tell Richie?"  
  
Duncan's head snapped back a touch. "That's different."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Richie is not Methos' student."  
  
"No, but at the very least, he's a friend of a friend. If I wanted leverage against Methos..." Tactics went into full swing, and Methos barely acknowledged Duncan's presence for a moment as he weighed the circumstances. "All right, it'd actually be a toss-up between Joe and Richie. Joe's more vulnerable in and of himself, but he's usually around you. Richie's on his own a lot more, and might still be the easier target for someone with experience."  
  
Duncan obviously did not at *all* like the way this conversation was going, but Methos didn't really have the heart to pity him. He started it, after all.  
  
"This isn't about Richie, this is about Natalie."  
  
"Right. The point is, you didn't tell Richie because you didn't think he needed to know, not because he's totally out of danger, far from it. You took a calculated risk and, incidentally, one that will probably pay off."  
  
He paused for a moment to think about the words to say what was on his mind. It was a good thing he'd already given the matter a lot of thought, or Duncan would have been able to sweep the floor with him. Finally he continued, "It's like telling a mortal what you are." Duncan looked skeptical, and opened his mouth to reply. "No, hear me out. Look at it from my perspective. What would I say to her? 'Hi, honey. Listen, you know how I told you I was only two thousand years old? Well, I'm actually over five thousand." His voice turned bitter. "I lied to you about who I was and what kind of person I am, hope you can forgive me." His voice started to rise in the stillness of the morning. "And, oh yes, don't forget to lock up at night, because you never know when someone who's been planning his whole life to have Methos' head on his mantlepiece may come barging through the front door!" He was shouting by the end. "Tell me, Duncan, how many times have you said the *exact same thing* and held your breath while you waited for her to slam the door in your face?"  
  
Duncan looked slightly stunned at his outburst. "Minus a few zeroes?" That earned him a chuckle, and he smiled back, but it faded a little before he replied. "More times than I can count."  
  
Methos was still chuckling as he shed some stored-up tension. "Teach you to ask me deep questions before my morning coffee."  
  
"Well, we're here, which means you're only off the hook a little while." He pointed ahead, and sure enough, there was the sign, swinging softly in the morning breeze.  
  
"Did I say 'coffee' singular? I meant plural."  
  
Duncan rolled his eyes. "And me, without my spatula to peel you off the ceiling."  
  
Methos smirked back. "A cookie sheet does in a pinch."  
  
"You'd know."  
  
Methos smiled, a real smile this time. "Damn straight I would."  
  
After they were shown to their seats and each had been fortified with at least one coffee, Duncan began, "So what's our plan of attack?"  
  
Methos pinned him with a look. "*My* plan of attack is to go in, find out what the Watchers know about the burglar and why he stole some of Adam Pierson's reports on Methos, and then leave. *You* are going to stay in the car."  
  
Duncan pinned him right back. "That's a joke, right?"  
  
Methos sighed, and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Not usually... look. The Watchers are already looking none too starry-eyed at me right now, never mind you. One look at the two of us together, and they might very well kill us before we reach the gate."  
  
"Methos, that was six years ago."  
  
He snorted. "Perhaps. But you're assuming they're looking at us more leniently over time. They could just as easily be puffing up the horrible things we did, and grinding their axes while we wait. I go, you stay."  
  
Duncan shook his head in amazement. "You are so paranoid, Methos."  
  
He snorted in laughter, and raised his coffee in salute. "Words to live by, my friend."  
  
***  
  
After breakfast, the two of them headed out. Just before Methos left the car, down the road a bit from the gates, he made Duncan swear again not to leave the car till he got back but, short of handcuffing the man to the steering wheel, he didn't think Duncan was going to sit and wait anywhere. Well, maybe all his hysterics would ensure a little more caution on Duncan's part when he snuck his way in.  
  
Speaking of getting in, it was time to get moving. Methos walked to the gates and handed the guard his old Watcher pass, purposefully using the arm with the tattoo. Well, he took the time to re-stencil the pattern last night, might as well get some use out of it.  
  
The guard frowned at him, unimpressed. "What's your business?"  
  
"I heard there was a break-in, that some stuff I used to be working on got stolen. I wanted to make sure this guy isn't going to come after me." True enough.  
  
The guard looked at his pass again, and sneered, "Says here you worked on the Methos Chronicles. Why d'you think anyone would want to come after *you*?"  
  
Oh, goody. Yet another Watcher flunky ecstatic to find someone even lower on the totem pole than they. Just what I need. "Maybe because the *last* time we had an information leak and our names got out, my partner got stabbed to death! Made me a cautious soul," he snapped. Snatching the pass out of the guard's hands, he stalked past him toward the mansion. The guard didn't challenge him.  
  
Fortunately, it hadn't been too long since he'd left, so most of the important people hadn't changed. Oh, the department heads had switched around, everyone was still grabbing for positions in the upper echelons. But not the really important people. His expression brightened into a smile as he caught sight of his destination. The office of Ms. Christine Cannick, Head Librarian. Gifted with an extraordinary memory and an eye for organization, Chris could point you in the right direction for any era of history and the records of nearly any immortal, dead or alive. Gifted also with a reputation for a closed mouth and a link to the secretarial gossip pool, Chris' office was the place to go to get information on just about *anything* that could be even remotely considered Watcher business.  
  
Plus, she liked him. Which relieved Methos to no end.  
  
He knocked on her door politely. She was on the phone when she answered, but she hurriedly made an excuse about something coming up and slammed the phone down before giving him a hug. "Adam! How are you?"  
  
"Hi, Chris. I hope that wasn't anyone important."  
  
She wrinkled her nose. "I don't think so... I think I dozed off there for part of it. I'm sure if he said anything important, he'll remind me." Grinning, she leaned back into her chair and kicked one over for him to sit in. "So, long time no see. I heard you've been a very bad boy." Against her will, she started chuckling. "Really, shacking up with a new Immortal and teaching her to fight? You should *see* the pretty colors the Watchers' faces have been turning. Better than a pack of Skittles."  
  
Ah, so he'd been right. Adam tried hard to look contrite. He really did. Really, seriously... "Oh, wipe that grin off your face. I'm amazed they even let you through the door." She snorted, trying not to laugh as she composed her expression to properly businesslike. "The point being, you didn't come back to say hi. Let me guess, you're here about the break-in?"  
  
He nodded. "What did they find?"  
  
"Well, he was definitely after something specific, whatever it was. Nearly tore my library apart looking for it." She frowned at the memory, and Adam winced, knowing the vast majority of the books here were irreplaceable.  
  
"Did you lose anything?"  
  
That snapped her out of it, and she smiled wryly back at him. "Nothing that couldn't be fixed, thank goodness. Just a lot of mess to sift through." She turned back to her desk, opened a drawer and started searching as she continued, "Turned out he took just a few of the later reports on the Methos Chronicle, none of any importance that I could see. And one more bit, taken from the clear other side of the library." She finally pulled out a file and shut the door, turning to speak to him directly. "It was your personnel file, complete with name and home address." Before Adam could wince, she brought up a finger to stop him. "Fortunately, since you managed to evade the Personnel Department longer than anyone else in history," she smiled briefly, "we don't have a photograph of you on file. And since you decided to leave us so dramatically, we don't have a forwarding address, either. So you're better off than you could be."  
  
"Yeah, but I'm here, so I'm also not as well off as I could be." She favored him with a sympathetic look. "Do you know who the thief was?"  
  
"Ah! Now that's the good part." She waved the file in her hand. "He apparently didn't know we had videocameras around the place, or didn't care, so we got a nice good look at him on tape." She rolled her chair over next to his and opened the file so they both could read. "Guy by the name of... Thomas Hunter. Here, a picture of him."  
  
A lanky face with black hair looked back at him. Tom. Tom Hunter. Karen's husband. Natalie. Shit!  
  
Methos was already on his feet. "Thanks, Chris. This means a lot. I'll talk to you later!" He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and was running down the hall.  
  
She called after him, "Good luck!" He barely heard her.  
  
Even the mighty Duncan was huffing and puffing to get back to the car before he did, and dove into the driver's seat next to him. Without bothering with words Methos patted Duncan's jacket till he found what he was looking for: a cell phone. *That's my Boy Scout... don't ever change.* He pulled it out over Duncan's protests, turned the ignition and slammed the car into gear as they sped back to Paris. "Yes, my name is Adam Pierson. I'd like my return ticket from Paris to Cairo moved to the earliest flight possible, please."  
  
As the reservations clerk put him on hold, he finally started tuning Duncan in. "Who is it, Methos? Do you know him?"  
  
He looked at Duncan with eyes too hard for despair. Know him? "He's probably in my house as we speak." He turned back to the phone. "Yes, I'll accept the charges..." 


	6. Part 6

Time To Spare, Part 6  
  
"Tom, hi! What are you up to?" Natalie swung the door open wide to let him past.  
  
Tom smiled easily at her. "Not much. Is Adam around?"  
  
Natalie eyed him speculatively. "Why? Are you guys finally going to compare power tools? You know, I've been waiting for this moment to come."  
  
His smile got a little brighter. "Close. Actually, I have a surprise for you." It wasn't till then that she noticed one of his hands was behind his back.  
  
"Mmm. Do I get three guesses?"  
  
"Nope, just one." He brought his hand out.  
  
Natalie gasped in surprise. "Hey, a new phone jack! Tom, you are such a sweetie! How did you know our phone was on the fritz?"  
  
"Because I've called you, that's why," he replied, laughing. "Come on. Let's see if we can hook it up."  
  
Natalie went to get screwdrivers and such out of the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, "Where on earth did you buy that? I thought Adam and I had searched every low-rent Radio Shack in Cairo!"  
  
"Oh, you just have to know where to look." Door to the right, window to the street. Window in the kitchen, but not big enough for a grown man, or woman, to slip through.  
  
He turned as Natalie reappeared, tools in hand. "I think I got everything."  
  
He cocked his head at her. "Well, let's crack this thing open and find out."  
  
Natalie sat down in front of the jack in the wall. "Well, I suppose step number one would be to take out the old one, huh?" She unplugged the phone and started attacking with the screwdriver.  
  
****  
  
"Dammit, Natalie, *pick up the phone*!" That earned him a sharp look from the man sitting next to him on the plane, a slightly more sympathetic one from his wife. He could have cared less, as he calmly redialed the number on the airphone in his hand. Twice now he'd had to consciously *not* demolish the thing, or twist it into a shape more likely to get his call through. He'd been trying to get Natalie to pick up the phone for a good hour now, but it just rang off the hook.  
  
She's in the bathroom, taking a very long shower. She went out to eat. She went shopping. She figured out who you are, and left you on the spot... *anything* was preferable to the image that kept invading his mind when he wasn't looking: Natalie, broken and bleeding, dragging herself toward the phone with one hand while Tom stood over her, sword raised for the final blow.  
  
The phone rang again, and again, and Methos started to seriously wonder if destroying the phone wouldn't be worth it. It was certainly better than ripping a hole in the side of the plane out of pure frustration. *Come on, Natalie, that's my girl, just pick up the phone, that's all. Pick it up...*  
  
****  
  
After nearly three hours of leaning over this stupid phone plug, never mind trying to decipher the instructions, written helpfully in technical Arabic... "I think we're almost done." She turned to look behind her, finding Tom with his eyes on the window, with the view to the street outside. She grinned. "Still waiting for Adam? You won't find him."  
  
He turned and smiled back at her. "Oh really? Where'd he run off to?"  
  
She shrugged and told him, deciding she was just being petty by keeping her mouth shut. "He said a friend of his got into some trouble... I dunno." She laughed it off, turning back to her work. "*I* think he's run off to have some torrid affair with some statuesque brunette 'Parisienne'," she said in a voice two octaves too high, chuckling to herself. "What do you think?"  
  
"Parisienne?"  
  
"Hmm? Oh!" she replied, still intent on the last bit of wiring. "Yeah, that's where he went, Paris."  
  
If she'd been watching his face when she said it, she would have seen the flicker of reaction. But she wasn't. "That's too bad."  
  
Natalie snorted. "Ain't it, though?"  
  
"I'm sorry." There was a sound, one Natalie couldn't quite place.  
  
Have you ever actually heard a sword being drawn? Not a sound artist's representation of a sword being drawn, like in the movies, but an actual sword against its scabbard? It has a distinctive ring to it, like a bell. Maybe it has something to do with the metal of the blade. Maybe it's just in the mind of the listener. But Natalie never forgot that sound, for the briefest moment that she heard it. It was what saved her life.  
  
She started to turn to see what it was and saw Tom's sword beginning to arc towards her neck. She yelped and threw herself out of the way purely by instinct. She was on her feet in an instant, but Tom was already coming at her with another swipe, which she also just barely avoided. "Tom?"  
  
Tom grimly pressed his advantage. "I'm sorry, Natalie. If he already knows how close I am to him, he'll just go into hiding again... but I know how much he cares about you. If I kill you, I won't have to search so long for him again. He'll come for me."  
  
Natalie wasn't sure how much of that statement she understood, but at the moment she had more pressing concerns. Namely, saving her life from one of her best friends. She tried to forget about the fact that this was someone she trusted, someone she *wanted* to trust... no, this is not Tom. Some kind of evil twin, possession, something, *anything* to make her mind believe it wasn't her friend. Because if it wasn't Tom, then she could hate it, and she could kill it. She already knew she had to kill it.  
  
She backed quickly out of range and eyed Tom's sword as she tried to remember where she'd put her own. But she started to feel jolts of panic when, for the life of her, she couldn't remember where it was... stupid stupid *stupid* damn gonna die... she dove for another part of the room, to keep him from pinning her in a corner, but she waited just a fraction too long to jump, and he managed to catch her in the upper arm as she flew by. She tried to roll to her feet without abusing her arm, but couldn't help landing on it a bit, which tore open the wound still further. She had to find something to fight back with, and soon. Or she really was going to die right here in her living room.  
  
Her fear was rapidly converting itself to anger as it occurred to her that she had been deceived by someone she trusted. Someone she had allowed in her home. And now he was going to kill her on her own carpet, for Christ's sake, not because he hated her, not because she had done anything to him at all. Her friend was going to walk into her house and kill her because it was most convenient for him. Most time-saving. Her blood was going to splatter the walls, so that a man who would live forever could be saved a couple months' wasted time. Cute.  
  
Anger and hatred finally closed around her heart, blotting out the fear. One side of her mind screamed its fury, while the other side began to think very, very clearly. Come on, Natalie. Something. Anything. Knives. Kitchen. She turned and ran for it, with Tom charging behind her. She suddenly skidded to a halt and yanked open the freezer door, allowing Tom's face to slam into it full tilt while she scrabbled for a knife without looking from the sink behind her. Almost instantly she found one and swung it down to slice his sword arm near the wrist. Those two together managed to stop him for a moment, and his sword clattered to the ground in front of him. Instead of diving for it, putting her in a position where he could easily overpower her, she waited until *he* dove for it, and gave him a football punt to the face. That gave her just enough time to snatch up the sword while he spun away to land flat on his back in front of her. She didn't know if he was conscious, she didn't know if she'd broken his neck. She really didn't care. Her fear had caught up with her, and that, along with the anger that still boiled within, saved her from hesitating an instant. Natalie brought the sword down with a sharp cry.  
  
****  
  
Adam had just landed when he caught the flash. If he hadn't been keeping his sight constantly in the direction of their house, or if it hadn't been a typically bright Cairo day, he might have been able to convince himself that it was something else. But he had, and it was. He wanted to turn away, just close his eyes and pretend he didn't see it. But he stood in the terminal, very still, with a bag slung over his shoulder and one hand touching the cool glass of the window, and watched the whole thing, until the last flicker died.  
  
And then he started to run.  
  
Oh Natalie, don't be dead.  
  
****  
  
Well, the body disappeared. She supposed it was a good thing; she had no idea what to do with a dead body in the middle of a crowded city, especially a very *hot* crowded city. But it still scared the life out of her when she turned around, and it was gone.  
  
She wished the blood would disappear, too. It looked like he spilled at least two quarts before his heart figured out that he was dead. She really needed to clean this place up, or she'd never get the stains out. She told herself she'd get right to it. Yes, sir. Just as soon as she finished throwing up.  
  
Adam crashed through the door in a flat run, looking for all the world like the hero he tried so hard not to be. He was just a little late, that was all. He took in the blood without a second glance. Well, he's undoubtedly seen it many times before. She herself felt like she was back in first-year anatomy. It was not a pleasant memory.  
  
Adam had his sword out as soon as he was out of sight of the street. "Natalie?" Bright boy, keeping his sword handy. She just remembered, hers was in the kitchen, above the cabinets. She'd gone in the right direction for the wrong weapon. Oh well.  
  
He couldn't see her from where she was, sitting on the bathroom floor leaning against the wall. She could only see him because the bathroom door was still open just a bit, but she didn't have the energy to reach out and move it. Or she didn't have the willpower. Same difference.  
  
"In here." She cleaned her mouth out for about the fiftieth time, and turned on the shower, feeling like she had about ten pounds of grime to scrub off. *I'll be out sometime tomorrow, dear.* Just as she stepped into the tub, he swept open the door, sword clattering to the ground unheeded. And for a moment, neither moved. They just stared at each other, Adam in the doorway, Natalie in the shower with water pouring down her face.  
  
Adam couldn't move. He just couldn't. He walked into the bathroom prepared to kiss her absolutely breathless, and froze. He just remembered that this was Natalie's first Quickening. He just realized that Natalie's training was complete. And he just remembered why he never, *ever*, got involved with his students.  
  
Finally, Natalie said, quite calmly, "I really ought to remember to lock the door... I mean, anybody could just walk right in."  
  
Adam stood stock still for another moment, opened his mouth to say something, shut it again. Then he turned and walked out, closing the bathroom door behind him.  
  
The scene in the kitchen wasn't very conducive to thought, and the bedroom wasn't much better. Adam... no, *Methos* settled for sitting in the hallway with his back to the wall. He had a wild thought or two about not making her leave, pretending to continue their training as always, as if nothing had happened. But it had, and he couldn't ignore the rule. He *couldn't* ignore it. Not when he'd made it himself.  
  
*And do you remember *why* you made that rule? Remember Alanna? Urick? Yu Chang? Constance? You couldn't let them go, and they *died* because they never learned to live on their own! Do you remember the looks on their faces when they died? How many more, before you learn your lesson?*  
  
No, here he did not have the option of failure. This was too important to waste time with selfishness. So he dried his tears, and proceeded to purposefully, methodically place emotional armor around his heart, one piece at a time. To fortify his heart until he felt absolutely Nothing.  
  
He was surprised how easy it was. But he shouldn't have been. He'd been doing it a long, long time.  
  
By the time Natalie finished her shower, he was ready. She opened the door with a smile that neatly undid all his hard work. "Well, I feel about a thousand percent better." He didn't return her smile, and it faded. "What is it?"  
  
He was so busy looking at her and trying to reconstruct his calm that he had to snap himself out of it to answer. *Hello? Methos? That's your cue. Speak. And don't let your voice break.* "You need to leave," he said quietly. His voice didn't break.  
  
"Why? Am I in the doghouse over the rug? I'm sure we can afford another one..." He shook his head. "Is it the electricity that's bothering you? I think I managed to burst about every light fixture we have, but don't worry, it'll get fixed if I have to string the wiring myself!" She tried to lighten the mood, but he wasn't responding at all. "Well then, what?" she cried, exasperated. "What *is* it? What's wrong?"  
  
His only elaboration was, "It's time for you to go." She watched him go into the bedroom, bring out a medium-sized duffel. "I packed your things."  
  
"What?" This time it was a mere whisper. "Adam, does this have something to do with Tom? He told me you were hiding from him, that he'd been searching for you... whatever it is, you can tell me!"  
  
His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw pain on his face. But no, on second glance, these eyes were *old*, old and cold and hard. These eyes didn't cry for her. They barely even knew her. "There's nothing to tell. Now get dressed."  
  
He almost told her. He came within inches. But if he had, she would never have left. He knew that, he *knew* it. And still he almost told her. It would have been the perfect excuse to keep her here, wouldn't it? Even with all his supposed resolve, he still almost let her stay. This was not good. Not good at all. Natalie needed to leave, and right now.  
  
Unfortunately, she wasn't cooperating. "The hell there isn't anything to say! Now you *tell me* what's going on, Adam, I deserve to know. Because, in case you might have forgotten, I nearly got killed today!" Natalie shouted from the bedroom, pulling on clothes as she did.  
  
He gritted his teeth. "Natalie, don't make this any harder than it has to be." Because his heart was melting fast, and he was going to lose all composure any second now, which would be disastrous for both of them. The worst part was, he knew exactly what he had to say to make her leave. He felt sure nothing less would compel her to go. And he wanted desperately not to have to say it.  
  
As he feared, Natalie was digging her heels in even further, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Why *not* make this hard?! Why even do it at all? Adam, I love you! Whatever is wrong, we can..."  
  
In Methos' mind, everything froze, and he said what he had to. "NO! There is no 'we'! Don't you get it? I don't love you. I *never* loved you! I *left* you here when I realized Tom was coming after me because I thought if he got your Quickening, he might leave me alone!"  
  
An instant later, when he could feel again, the look on her face cracked his very soul. God above, how does my mind think of such lies, let alone my tongue bear to speak them? But he held his ground, and played his part the best he knew how. He glared at her with scorn in his eye, and pleaded with his heart. *Natalie, if you ever loved me, leave! Now!*  
  
Natalie had already been betrayed by someone she trusted once that day. It was getting easier to believe with practice. After a moment, her eyes froze over. *You see? I can be heartless, too.* She picked up her bag and walked out without looking back.  
  
Methos waited, once again standing very still, until he was sure she was out of earshot. Then, as if released from a gun, he swept up his sword and plunged it into the wall with a cry that was more howl than yell. He left it there, vibrating, the point sticking a good three inches out of the kitchen wall on the other side, and went to bed.  
  
****  
  
Natalie's eyes were hard and glittering as she glared at the floor. She probably didn't even realize she was crying. "Natalie?"  
  
Her head snapped up, and she recalled her surroundings. She took a deep breath and smiled weakly at Nick. "It was a long time ago."  
  
Nick gave her a knowing look. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" The coffee was long since cold, so he got up to toss what was in their cups, and put what was left in the pot back on the heater.  
  
Natalie tried to get up to help, but he waved her off. "Since when did you get your amateur psychology degree, anyway?"  
  
His back was to her as he washed out their cups, so she didn't see him slowly smile, but she did see him waggling his finger for a moment at no one in particular as he replied, "As a matter of fact, I have a theory about that."  
  
"A theory."  
  
He glanced back over his shoulder as he put the cups in the dishwasher. She was smiling. Good. He reached for two more cups. "Yes. My theory is that vampirism, while slowing down the aging process, creating a blood lust, et cetera, alters the brain chemistry to inhibit mature thinking."  
  
"Oh *really.*" This had to be good. Natalie got up and walked into the kitchen to wait with Nick while the coffee reheated, loving every minute of Nick's delighted look at being able to tell this particular story.  
  
For his part, Nick was really starting to warm up, and couldn't quite suppress an evil grin. "Yes. Moreover, the tighter hold vampirism has over a body, the longer his fangs grow, and the less grip he has on mature thought."  
  
"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of a particular kind of vampire, would you? Say, the kind that might be watching us right now?"  
  
"Of course not," he replied with a not-quite-perfect poker face, and Natalie had to laugh. "You like my theory?"  
  
"I love your theory. Tell me more."  
  
Nick maintained his barely repressed grin, as he reached back into the sink. "Well, you know how to kill one, don't you?"  
  
"Mmm... do tell."  
  
"Well," and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "legend has it that if you sneak up on one very... very... slowly, and then..." Nick flipped on the faucet with one hand and grabbed the sink sprayer with the other, and Natalie caught the spray full in the face, letting out a high- pitched yelp in the process. "... you do that. And they're dead meat."  
  
Natalie looked at him impassively for a moment. "They're not the only ones." A hand reached behind her, and found the refrigerator door. She opened it, glanced inside, then turned back to Nick. "What does legend say about potato salad?"  
  
"Mmm..." Nick paused thoughtfully. "Invented by the Irish in 1712 to ward off evil spirits." Natalie just looked at him. "Though there's really no way to know for sure unless you try it out for yourself."  
  
"The power of the sink sprayer versus the power of potato salad. This could be war," Natalie commented as she took the bowl out of the fridge.  
  
"If you can't pick your battlegrounds, and you can't pick your enemies, the least you can do is pick your weapons. En guarde."  
  
"Die!" As the kitchen dissolved into shrieks and giggles, splashes and splats, if there *was* an Enforcer watching, she rolled her eyes, and made her own judgments about maturity levels. 


	7. Part 7

Time To Spare, Part 7  
  
Natalie forlornly surveyed the damage they'd done to the kitchen. Again. "Didn't we just clean this place?"  
  
Nick was lying on the floor in defeat, which was a pretty disgusting thing to do, considering the mess. He probably reasoned that whatever the state of the floor, it was still cleaner than they were. And he'd be right. "We could just let it go till tomorrow," he responded without opening his eyes.  
  
She shot him a glance that he was totally oblivious to. "Nick, it is tomorrow."  
  
Nick smiled and shook his head. "Tomorrow is defined as after sleep."  
  
That made her pause for a moment. "How did you ever survive sleeping days then?"  
  
"By setting my watch to Tokyo time. I still say we leave the mess."  
  
"No. Nick, it's gonna start growing germs." She nudged his shoulder with one foot. "Come on. We have to clean it up. Or I'm going to let you just sleep there till that stuff cakes on you."  
  
"I don't think you want to know my response to that."  
  
"No, I don't. C'mon, upsy-daisy, the sooner we start, the sooner we finish."  
  
"All right, all right, I'm up." She tossed him a washcloth, and he attacked the cabinet walls while she started in on the floor. "You know, Torquemada has nothing on you."  
  
"And I suppose this is the point where you tell me you knew Torquemada." Natalie threw him an amused glance.  
  
Nick dumped the contents of his washcloth in the sink, rewashed it. "Are you kidding? LaCroix *was* Torquemada, didn't you know?"  
  
"Ha! Now *that*, I believe." Natalie paused for a moment in her work to look at Nick. He was busy trying to push all the gunk collected on the countertop into the sink in one fell swoop. He kept missing pieces and having to go back, but his face was a mask of concentration. His clothes were a complete mess, and he had what looked to be tomato in his hair. He looked old. He looked happy. He looked normal.  
  
"Nick?" He turned. "Have I told you how glad I am that I came to see you?"  
  
He smiled at her, the smile she loved best, with all the laugh lines and crow's feet and happiness that he never had in all the time she'd known him before, and wiped a piece of celery off her nose. "No. But I'm glad you came, too." She pulled him into a hug, and his arms tightened around hers for a long moment.  
  
Then she pulled away and looked down at them, and the state of their clothes. "Eww. Next time, clean first, hug later."  
  
Nick laughed softly, and picked up his washcloth. "I'll remember."  
  
By the time they finished cleaning up the second disaster of the night, it was well past the wee hours of the morning. "...It looks like it might be dawn soon."  
  
Nick was operating solely by touch again, it was a little frightening how good he was at it. "Already? And here, the party's just started."  
  
"Nick?" He turned his face in her direction and grunted, eyes still closed. "Nick?" Come on, dearie, open those baby blues, there you are... "Have you ever watched the sun rise?"  
  
"Mmm... once or twice. Why?" He tried to blink sleepily and eye her warily at the same time, but it didn't work out too well.  
  
"Because you have yet to experience the Lambert sunrise tradition." Oh, he was going to really hate her for this one.  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"To sit up and watch it."  
  
As predicted, Nick laughed softly. "Funny girl." But his eyes were open just enough to catch her wistful expression, so he sighed and relented. "Oh well, what's one more cup of coffee, right?" Then his eyes snapped open with a jerk. "Oh damn, the *coffee*!" He snatched the pot out of the coffeemaker and took a sniff. Then he turned back to Natalie with a cringe. "I think you're going to wish we'd put some grease in this one. At least it's still warm..." He poured her a cup and handed it to her, remarking with a sleepy smile, "Consider it your penance for making me stay up another hour."  
  
Natalie took the cup and watched him pour one for himself. "If it's my penance, why are you drinking it?"  
  
He cocked his head at her. "Natalie, at this point, you could put a cat in that filter, and if what came out was caffeinated, I'd drink it."  
  
Natalie stared at him, a little shocked. "That's sick, Nick."  
  
He shook his head at her mock-sadly. "Sometimes the truth is not a pretty thing."  
  
She was about to answer, decided against it, and just passed it all off as sleep deprivation so they could get back to the main business. "So, does this place have a roof that we can get onto?"  
  
"Oh, you want me to be *cold*, too?"  
  
"Hah! Come on, Mister 'Ireland isn't cold,' time to face the music."  
  
Nick snorted in amusement. "Touche. Well, come on then. I think there's a window around here somewhere that we can crawl through..."  
  
They did eventually find one, in the bathroom right over the toilet. Natalie got through it without much trouble. She thought Nick would too, but... "Natalie?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I think I'm stuck." He had his little boy expression going again, looking like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  
  
"You're not stuck." She reached out and grabbed his hands, giving him a little yank.  
  
"Oww!"  
  
"... You *are* stuck." She sat back and thought. "Nick, is that a metal frame on that window?"  
  
"Umm, I think so. Why?"  
  
"Ah, good." She smiled reassuringly. "If we're in luck, all you need to do is sit there for a little while and warm up the metal, and it'll expand, hopefully enough to push you back through."  
  
"Natalie, have you been watching MacGyver again?" She decided giggling insanely would not boost his confidence, so she feigned innocence instead. "Great."  
  
"You want your coffee?"  
  
He took it from her with an irritated glance. "You're such a help."  
  
"Oh come on, Nick. It's not that bad. You have a great view of the sunrise, it's a beautiful morning, you could do a lot worse."  
  
"I *could* be in bed, asleep," he pointed out.  
  
She smiled and shook her head. "But then you wouldn't be having as much fun."  
  
"Don't give me fun. I could be having my Claudia Schiffer dream. *Then* we'd see who was having more fun," he muttered.  
  
"Look, Nick, there it is!" The light shafted out from between the mountains and lit the city, making it sparkle with first frost. But that wasn't what she watched. She watched the mountains, and the clouds, and the sun, and remembered happier times. She knew that those times were over, that brighter skies may not be for a long time, and that once she left here, she'd have no one to rely on but herself. But when she watched the sun rise, that was all she needed, to give her a little hope. *And for that, I'll always owe you a debt, Adam Pierson. No matter what.*  
  
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. And then she turned back to Nick. "Here, give me that coffee cup, and let's see if we can't get you out of there."  
  
"Good. Because if the fire department has to come pry me out of my bathroom window with the Jaws of Life on a Sunday morning, I don't think I'm ever going to be able to live it down at the precinct."  
  
"Well, don't expect me to be making any emergency calls on your behalf, Nick." He gave her a quizzical glance. "In case you haven't noticed, if you're stuck, I'm stuck. It's kind of a long drop to the ground."  
  
He cringed back at her. "This better work."  
  
"It'll work, don't worry. Now, put your hands on the side of the house, and hold on." She maneuvered herself to have a foot on either shoulder, and did her best to brace herself by grabbing the drainpipe running along the side of the roof.  
  
"Wait, why do I have to brace myself on the house? Isn't that what I *don't* want to do?"  
  
"Because, Nick," she explained patiently, "I don't want you to go shooting backwards through your bathroom like a cork out of a bottle and break every bone in your body. Make sense?"  
  
"Ah. Absolutely." He smiled, a little nervously. Well, she couldn't really blame him. "Ready."  
  
"Okay... one, two, THREE!" He went through easy as pie. "You were not stuck."  
  
"I was too! You just had leverage... are you coming down from there?"  
  
Natalie peered at him through the square of the window. "I think I'm going to stay out here a little while longer, if that's okay."  
  
"Do I get to go to bed, now?" He looked at her hopefully.  
  
"You can go to bed now. But before you do, check and make sure the kitchen hasn't spontaneously exploded while we've been away. It might have been missing us."  
  
At that point, Natalie could have told him to paint himself bright orange and go dancing naked in the streets, and he probably wouldn't have found anything particularly odd in the suggestion. "Okay. G'night, Natalie."  
  
"Goodnight, Nick." She turned back to enjoy her sunrise for just a little while longer.  
  
****  
  
They were so tired after their late night/early morning, Nick and Natalie slept all day, waking up, as Natalie put it, "just in time to make dinner before ER."  
  
"You are so predictable, Natalie. You must have watched every episode five times over by now." Nick was wearing a bemused expression, watching from the sidelines while she made dinner. She let him boil water and stir pasta, but that was about it, so he spent his time being as small as possible next to the stove while she chopped vegetables and made the sauce.  
  
She shrugged mock-helplessly as she sliced a tomato for the salad. "Who watches for the plot? It's not my fault they decided to make a medical soap opera filled with good-looking guys." She laughed, and commented further, "Though if someone like Carter had gone to my medical school, I'd have definitely been rethinking that decision to go into forensic medicine."  
  
"Not a George Clooney fan, huh?"  
  
Gifting him with an incredulous look, she replied, "Are you kidding? With Noah Wylie on the set? Not a chance. Keep stirring."  
  
"I'm stirring, I'm stirring..." Nick was muttering to himself, something about being betrayed by his own kitchen. She decided to ignore it.  
  
Unfortunately, it was one of the episodes where you can set your watch to the 'kindly old person death scene' precisely 52 minutes after the hour. But Natalie enjoyed watching the reruns, where you can yell as loud as you like at the characters, because you already know what stupid things they're going to do, and when to keep quiet and listen to the good bits. Natalie had just finished searching her immediate area for something non- destructive that she could throw at the screen, and was just about to check her watch for the old person scene, when she caught the Buzz again.  
  
Without even giving Nick a sign as to what was going on, she launched out of her chair and paused only to grab her coat at the door, with her sword within, before throwing it open to scan the area. The car across the street roared to life and sped away before she could get to the bottom of the stairs. Even so, Natalie managed to get a glimpse of the driver before the car moved away from the light of the streetlamp. She recognized the face, the hair. She didn't recognize the hatred that exuded from her eyes like a palpable thing, when they met her own. Though she knew why it was there. Oh God, why did she have to come back? Why can't some wounds heal eventually? She sighed. And here, people called Fate fickle. No, a methodical old hag was she, who brought every action back upon itself at some point, and never left any good deed unpunished.  
  
She just stood there and watched the car drive away. What else could she do? So she stood there on the sidewalk with the lamplight pooling on the ground beside her, glinting faintly off her sword... oops! No need for it to be out for God and country to see, thank you. She quickly hid it in the folds of her coat, but still didn't have the heart to move to go inside. Slowly she sank to the bottom step of Nick's outer stairs and just sat, staring at the pavement as if it might hold a secret.  
  
Nick watched her through the window a little while, until she remembered herself enough to come inside from the cold. She stripped off her coat and set out for the kitchen without even glancing in Nick's direction. She started mechanically putting dishes in the dishwasher, seeking something, anything mindless that would help her remember she was still a human being, still normal, in most senses of the word. She accepted Nick's help without a word. Finally he asked, "Do you know him?"  
  
She yanked her head up out of whatever world she was in, surprised. After staring in confusion for a moment, she remembered what he said, and smiled faintly. "Her, actually. And yes."  
  
"I think it was Karen Hunter."  
  
Nick couldn't hide his initial shock, and she halfheartedly laughed. "Well, I guess I don't have to worry anymore about why someone would be following me. Or why she might want me dead."  
  
Nick grimaced as he absently turned the dishwasher on, hoping he remembered to put in some dishwashing soap this time. "Natalie, I'm sorry."  
  
Her eyes widened in incredulity. "Nick, I'm the one who should be apologizing to you! I'm putting your life in danger just by being here!" She was shaking her head in exasperation at herself. "I can't believe what I was thinking, trying to hide from my problems behind you." She was shaking her head in exasperation at herself. "Not only do you have your own problems, you couldn't even handle mine in any case..."  
  
Nick frowned, then saw the irony, and smiled slightly. "Just say it, Natalie." When she gave him a quizzical glance, he continued, "Come on, I deserve it. I laid the line on you often enough." When it was obvious she still had no idea what he was talking about, he mimicked himself, a lifetime ago: "You're only mortal. You couldn't understand."  
  
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Don't say that! God, I *hated* it when you pulled that on me." Her smile faded as she murmured, as if to herself, "Besides, it's not true. I think you probably could understand, better than most. Lord knows you had your own share of vengeances thrust upon you."  
  
"Yes, but I, at least, was fortunate enough to be able to resolve mine..."  
  
****  
  
A very different Nicholas Knight watched the sky begin to slowly become pale, a sign that dawn was surely near. The sight had meant a great deal to him for most of his life, it meant the difference between life and death, night and day, what he... what he was then, and what he was now. Now it was no longer the sign to find shelter, a signal of danger and fear, first beacon of the death that waited for them always, on the other side of shelter.  
  
Now it was just morning. No, actually it was *the* morning. His first since the morning he woke on the road home from Jerusalem. Since that night, in a dirty, stinking tavern, when he met the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and fell into her arms without thought, without hesitation, as if he'd been born there. The morning before he met Janette, and she changed his life forever.  
  
It was ironic that his next dawn would be the one where he buried her.  
  
"It is done." Good. Finally, it was over. The wind would spread her ashes the world round, if it were within his power. He hoped that wherever her soul rested, it was at peace. Recent events had caused him to reconsider his definitions of right and wrong, good and evil, damned and saved. Because Janette was a vampire, practical when it was necessary, kind when she could get away with it, and she stood by her ethics without question or compromise. If anyone deserved to be happy after this life, it was she.  
  
He knew he was just avoiding the inevitable, that LaCroix was still patiently waiting for him to speak after making his announcement. Though he wasn't aggravated by Nicholas' inattendance, far from it. He hardly noticed, seemingly content to just watch Nicholas stand at the window. *Well, my son, it seems you have what you wanted.* Nicholas turned to look at him with sad eyes, and he realized he'd spoken aloud.  
  
LaCroix shrugged slightly. Perhaps he simply shifted his shoulders. "Or what you used to want." Ah, Nicholas. To have you back, after centuries of defiance, only to lose you to chance. God does indeed roll dice, my friend. And in so doing, he has caused me to lose everything.  
  
It was a little frightening, and a little sad, how two minds who were so completely opposed for so very long could think along such parallel lines at the end. *Had you moved faster, LaCroix, had you chosen wisely, you could have had at least one of us beside you, afterwards. I was already lost to you... my mortality, once regained, couldn't be torn away, even if I wanted it to. Janette, she would have stayed by your side... but that wasn't what happened. And so, you lose us both.* Nick turned back toward the rapidly brightening sky, and called over his shoulder, a little hesitantly, "... You don't have much time."  
  
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. LaCroix had crossed the room in an eyeblink, as he replied, "Neither do you."  
  
Nick covered the hand with his own, still facing the window. "It will be time enough." He turned to face LaCroix with an expression that was meant to be reassuring. "For everything." But it didn't last long as the two regarded each other, for the last time. Starting the next sunset, the Enforcers began their vigil, and Nick's exile would be complete.  
  
Nick broke the silence again, his voice halting uncertainly. "Will you... do me a favor?"  
  
LaCroix paused for a moment to consider his words before replying. "Anything."  
  
Nick smiled softly, knowing how much LaCroix needed his own independence, and how hard such a blanket promise would have been for him.  
  
"Would you take care of Natalie for me?" At LaCroix's stunned expression, he rapidly explained. "I know you can't change what she is, or what kind of life she leads... but we both know that the Enforcers have a long memory. And they can be very, very patient. I don't trust them to leave her along forever. I think eventually they'll want their pound of flesh from anyone who is not what we are," LaCroix noted the 'we', not 'you', "And yet knows so much about us." Nick's voice took on the smallest pleading tone. "Will you do this for me?" Nick caught his eyes and saw his face relax and a small nod. His own face lit up in relief and gratitude. "Thank you." It was so ironic. They had so much left to say to one another, and so little time, that neither could speak a word. And so they both stood at the window and watched the sky grow ever brighter, and their time grow ever shorter, until Nick could stand the silence no more.  
  
"LaCroix..." his voice caught, and he started again. "Eight hundred years..." Nick sighed, dropped the pretenses, and simply pulled LaCroix to him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. After a momentary surprise, LaCroix's arms tightened around him with surprising force, and he laid a gentle kiss to the top of Nick's fair head. Which expressed everything that needed to be said much better than words ever could.  
  
But after what seemed just a moment, LaCroix reluctantly spoke. "I have seconds."  
  
Even without a vampire's sensitivity, Nick still could tell precisely how long it took the sun to rise in the Toronto sky. "I know." He took a step back, but did not release LaCroix's gaze. "Goodbye."  
  
LaCroix opened his mouth, took in breath... but couldn't bring himself to say the word. His expression was a complex mixture of frustration, irony, and sadness as he raised a hand in farewell. And then he disappeared, a brush of wind through an open skylight.  
  
And for the first time in eight hundred years, Nicholas Knight felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.  
  
****  
  
"Nick, this doesn't change the fact that I have to leave. I won't put you in danger." If she hadn't been so distracted, Natalie would have laughed. It really was so very like their conversations before, when Nick was protecting her from his life.  
  
But Nick was adamant, pulling a gun out of a suit jacket hanging on the back of one of the dining room chairs. He checked to make sure the clip was full, and remarked, "Natalie, I'm fully able to take care of myself. I'm sure a gunshot in the right place stops one of you as easily as anyone else."  
  
"Not for long, and you can't interfere, Nick. This is my fight." Natalie was partly irritated at his stubbornness; but partly concerned that if he were nearby when it happened, he would try to protect her, interrupting the Game. "Nick, I know you don't understand our Rules. I doubt you would believe in them even if you did. But please, when she comes, let me handle her." Nick, frowning, opened his mouth to argue. "*Promise* me." He looked highly annoyed at the idea and glared at her a moment longer, but then he let out the breath he'd taken in, and nodded reluctantly.  
  
"Come on. If you're going to go get your aerobic exercise in tomorrow, you should at least do it with some sleep under your belt." He went to go get the extra blanket out of the closet. 


	8. Part 8

Time To Spare, Part 8  
  
Natalie was dreaming again. It was another of her recurring dreams, she could tell by the feel that she had been here before. But unlike her dream from the other night, this one was anything but peaceful. Or safe.  
  
She was lying on her stomach just at the rise of a hill. On the other side stretched an enormous lake, so wide she couldn't see the other side. On the near shore stood a cluster of warriors, all circled around an old man in long robes, who seemed to be chanting something. The water gradually began to boil and froth, until a dragon made of water began to emerge, rising slowly out of the surface. And it kept rising, and rising, until it was so tremendous it seemed to touch the sky, dwarfing the magician who made him...  
  
Its gaze caught Natalie with one baleful eye, and knew her as an enemy to the one who made it. From a hundred feet up, its head snaked down, fast as lightning, and instantly she was faced its wide gaping jaws ready to snatch her up and kill her without another thought...  
  
****  
  
She woke with a gasp, and her eyes snapped open to see Karen standing over her, her sword raised and glinting in the predawn light.  
  
Of the numerous Immortals she'd fought over the past fourteen years, she'd seen many who would admit defeat at this point. They'd certainly admitted defeat for less; when they've only lost their sword, or are driven to their knees, they simply let their opponent take their head. Consequently, expecting this reaction, a number of Immortals paused before making that final blow, to make a parting comment, or something equally useless.  
  
Before Natalie came into contact with this phenomenon, she never understood why Adam was so insistent on drilling her about that portion of her training; he must have taught her seven or eight different ways to kill a man from the classic kneeling position of defeat. She also never knew why his ever-present half-smile was a cross between grim and smug when he demonstrated the technique. Now she understood. Very well, indeed.  
  
However useful they were, though, she wasn't kneeling at the moment, she was flat on her back on a couch in the middle of Nick's living room... not the most ideal of starts. All that (well, at least the last bit) flew through her head in the moment of realization that one has between living a dream and recognizing the real world. The moment when Karen started her downswing.  
  
Natalie rolled off the couch onto the floor by Karen's feet as her sword came down in a puff of pillow feathers, grabbing her legs at the knees and bringing her down to the ground with a yank. Admittedly, Karen fell on top of Natalie, which wasn't an ideal solution, but it was better than giving her room to swing that sword. If she could keep well within Karen's personal space, she could use her two free hands to best advantage. Speaking of which...  
  
Natalie wrapped her legs around Karen's waist and grabbed at her arms before Karen could get oriented. For a moment, Natalie had her pinned, and while they struggled, Natalie hissed in her ear, "Why?"  
  
"You killed my husband, you bitch!" Karen jerked her head back, connecting hard with Natalie's face and causing her to whiplash against the ground with a crack. That loosened Natalie's hold, which a quick elbow to her ribcage loosened further, enough for Karen to get away. She scrambled to her feet and spun around in time to see Natalie pull her sword out from under the couch and up to meet her blow with a clang of metal.  
  
Natalie shook her head in irritation. "No, not why you, why Tom? Why did he try to kill me?" Karen wasn't listening as she moved in quickly, trying to knock Natalie off her balance. As Natalie blocked the smaller woman and pushed her back, she was honestly only half listening, herself. "Karen, if anyone, you would know. What was he after?"  
  
Fury finally sparked in Karen's icy blue eyes. "How *dare* you!" and she made a brutal crash against Natalie's blade that nearly sent the other woman staggering. "You kill him in cold blood in the middle of your damned *living room*, and then you have the gall to pretend it's his fault?" She followed it up with a push to her advantage, succeeding in making Natalie take a step back to regain her balance before solidly holding her ground against Karen's onslaught.  
  
Some detached part of Natalie's brain noted the weakness, while another portion debated the wisdom of exploiting it. Anger could cause someone to make mistakes; it could also cause them to become inspired. And she really didn't feel like shouldering that particular blow again.  
  
So she tried another line of thought. "It's been," she grunted under the weight of another downward swing, decided to just dodge any further ones, "nearly fifteen years, Karen. Why now? What happened?" *Why can't some things just be forgotten?*  
  
Karen grimly responded, crouching and making a swipe at Natalie's legs, "You told me you grew up in Toronto, Natalie." She swept her blade up to block an upper shot of Natalie's, before taking a step back and repositioning herself again. "I figured you had to come back sometime. After that, it was easy to keep tabs on old friends you might visit before their time is up."  
  
After an initial burst of irritation at being so predictable, Natalie's first thought was, ironically enough, *Yet another reason not to come back so soon. Gee, Adam, I guess you forgot that one.* But she kept silent, figuring that Karen wouldn't see the humor in it.. She thought about trying to ask her a few more questions, but that might get them back on the subject of Tom again, and her brain hadn't figured out yet if that was a good idea or not.  
  
But no, it went beyond that, she decided. She wanted to know what it was all about. She wanted to know why the same man who convinced her of the existence of fantastic creatures called Immortals, of the Game, and the Rules, who convinced her to give up everything, to leave her life here and begin a new one with him, far from home... why this same man would betray every trust she gave him and leave her to die in his stead. She wasn't angry, she wasn't sad. She just wanted to know why.  
  
So she asked again, "He said he'd been chasing Adam for a long time, that Adam had been hiding from him. Why? What was between them?"  
  
Karen sighed in irritation at yet another interruption to their fight. "What the hell are you talking about? Tom never met Adam until we introduced them to each other."  
  
Natalie suddenly had a thought. It was a thought she didn't like at *all.* She backed up another step, keeping her guard up, as she said very slowly and carefully, "Karen, you have to listen to me. I didn't attack Tom, he attacked me. He was going to use me against Adam. There was something that had happened between them. That's all I know..."  
  
But Karen was shaking her head, and smiling in amazement at her. "This is a real work of art, Natalie. Let me make sure I've got this straight. My husband, whom I'd been with for nearly a century, actually had a terrible soul-eating vendetta against someone I'd never met. No, make that someone I've never even *heard* of. Oh, and the best part, he just happened to *forget* to tell me." Her voice was just dripping with scorn and hatred. "Now let me tell you something. My husband would never keep anything from me, he couldn't. He never would have tried to attack you, he had no reason to." Her expression twisted as she gazed into Natalie's eyes, and her words short and bitter. "You, however, are young, and sadly lacking in power. It's not hard to believe you'd do pretty much anything to get it. Am I right?" Her face twisted even further in grief as she demanded, "AM I?!"  
  
Natalie was struck completely speechless for a long moment, as Karen wiped her eyes furiously on her sleeve. "Karen, I..."  
  
But she shook her head in such a way that Natalie's voice faded. "Shut up, Natalie. Just shut up and fight." She jerked her sword upward to crash against Natalie's, not to get beneath her guard, but to get beneath her skin. A move meant to start a fight, not finish one. But Natalie wasn't finished with the conversation, no matter if Karen wasn't listening anymore.  
  
"I'm telling the truth!" Natalie was fighting hard to concentrate on Karen's sword, and not the threads of connection that were forming rapidly in her head. He never told her. Whatever was going on, Tom had kept it a secret from her. All Karen could see was her husband's Quickening, and Natalie already gone... she wondered what Adam had told her. Who knows, he might have just told Karen what she wanted to hear, that Natalie had gone berserk, killed Tom, anything to put Karen on her trail and not his. *I swear to God, Adam Pierson, if I find you, I really am going to kill you.*  
  
It was only just as they resumed their fighting that they noticed they had an audience. Nick stood at the entrance to the hallway, gun in hand. He looked grim, but was holding his ground without a word.  
  
Karen glanced at him, then broke out in an amused smile, the same one she used to wear when she laughed at one of Adam's jokes. "Ah yes, the other half of why I'm here now. It would be fitting, wouldn't it..." she began conversationally, then spun and lunged at him. Going for Nick, the most obvious weapon to use against her. Nick's gun went off the same moment she took Karen's head. Natalie remembered that her husband had made the same mistake, when she killed him. She hoped the other woman could appreciate the irony.  
  
Maybe Karen died thinking the same thing. Because when she fell, Natalie finally got a clear sight of Nick.  
  
Or, more importantly, of the sword point embedded in his chest. Standing just a few inches closer than where she thought he would be.  
  
Then the Quickening overwhelmed her senses, and she saw no more.  
  
****  
  
By the time she came out of it, the sun was already shining through the window. Natalie couldn't have been senseless for very long, but Nick had already lost a lot of blood. She called the paramedics, but he was just bleeding too fast; there wasn't much that could be done. The clinical part of her mind knew that help would be too late. But it wisely refrained from telling her heart.  
  
She pillowed his head on her lap. "Nick? You're going to be all right. Can you hear me? You're going to be fine, you just lie still. Help will be here soon..."  
  
Nick smiled weakly. "You were always such the optimist, Natalie." He coughed.  
  
She made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. "I said *lie still*. And don't try to talk." She had a sudden thought, looked around wildly, and did something she never would have done under any other circumstances. She looked to the windows, to the brightening sky, and shouted, "Help him!"  
  
Nick shook his head slightly. "She can't hear you. She's already left." Natalie looked back down at him, and he made a miniscule shrug. "I guess that vampire sense hasn't left me completely after all. She left just before the lightning started. Dawn was," he coughed again, a little more weakly, "coming anyway. No need to stay. Besides, my..." he swallowed painfully, "mortality's irreversible." He smiled again, his voice rasping in his chest. "Neat trick, huh?"  
  
"Nick, I'm serious. You have to stop talking. You're just making it worse." Her tears were falling freely now, she couldn't stop them.  
  
He still had breath enough to chuckle, though it hurt like hell. "Natalie, we both know talking isn't going to change anything. Now listen to me very carefully, there's something I need you to remember..."  
  
By the time he finished his story, he was reduced to whispering. Natalie's eyes were wide. "That's it?"  
  
"Anybody can do it."  
  
Natalie tried to smile, but her grief twisted it into what looked almost like a grimace. "One last revenge, huh?"  
  
The corners of his mouth turned up, though he couldn't focus on her face anymore. "Well, one of them, anyway. Which reminds me, when you see LaCroix, tell him I said hi."  
  
Natalie didn't understand. "Why would I ever see him?"  
  
Nick's smile lifted a little more. "No, better get him to tell you the story. If you've never seen LaCroix truly angry, it's quite a floorshow. I wouldn't want to deprive you of that. Just watch out for the flying furniture."  
  
He couldn't see her face at all now, but he imagined her expression, and his eyes were still bright. "Hey, God will forgive me. There was a time when his revenge was something to fear, too."  
  
"But not anymore?"  
  
"No, not anymore."  
  
And Nick died smiling, with the morning sun on his face. 


	9. Part 9

Time To Spare, Part 9  
  
Natalie was having a hard time keeping track of the seasons these days. She knew it was cold when she came to Toronto, but she hadn't realized how close winter was until the snow was already falling. At least the cloud cover that swept in yesterday made it a little warmer than the days before. "You know, you could have made it easier on everyone and just died in summer, Nick. Or spring. Sometime when the ground wasn't frozen solid. I'm surprised they didn't need a jackhammer to dig a hole deep..." Her throat caught, but the tombstone she was talking to didn't seem to mind. It just stared back at her, waiting patiently for her to continue. She sighed. "I don't know why you're looking at me like that. I don't know what to say. I always figured you were the one that was good at goodbyes. I just seem to smile cheerfully, wave, and walk away." The stone and the woman regarded each other another moment, until Natalie sighed, and reached into the inside of her coat.  
  
She laid a rose on top of the perfectly smooth cover of snow next to his grave. It would either wither soon, or freeze and remain perfectly preserved until spring. She didn't know which would be more appropriate, so she left it up to fate. She quietly stood with Nick a while longer, until she felt the Buzz.  
  
She considered not even looking over her shoulder. She was on holy ground, whoever it was could wait. She turned. It was Methos, standing off at a distance. She didn't realize it, of course. She thought it was just Adam. But in reality, Methos stood before her for the very first time. She looked back at the tombstone. "You know a back way out of this place?" It didn't answer. She sighed. "Figures."  
  
She leaned in conspiratorially. "Should I talk to him?" Again, the tombstone didn't reply, as if the answer were obvious. Well, it was. "I suppose you're right." She gathered up her resolve by taking a long breath, then did her best to smile cheerfully. "See you later, Nick. Maybe next time I come back I'll sweet-talk the manager into letting me plant some flowers on your plot." She smiled again, a little more easily this time. "Yeah, I thought you'd get a kick out of that." Then she waved goodbye, her smile only faltering once, and walked away.  
  
Methos stood just inside the gates, on the edge of holy ground. Insurance against her attacking him outright. Whatever else she thought of Adam, Natalie had always maintained he was a smart man. She truly didn't know if she wanted to throw her arms around him and beg his forgiveness, or gut him like a pig. All she knew was that both reactions frightened her, so she did her best to refuse both, instead schooling her expression to calm.  
  
The two of them stood and regarded each other for a moment, in very much the same way they had the night she left. His hair was a bit longer, not quite so spiky. His face looked exactly the same, of course, every line and crease of him. Her mind slipped and sputtered to a halt, until she realized she was staring, and scaled her gaze back to observation. He didn't look at all happy, but Natalie didn't even try to convince herself it was because of her. She'd almost forgotten, but Nick had been his friend, too. They'd known each other for, what, nearly six hundred years? A loss like that had to hurt. It *did* hurt. Well, she would leave them alone. She turned and began to walk back to her car without a word. In so doing, she missed the momentary look of panic that swept across his features as he watched her leave him behind once again. He took in a calming breath.  
  
"You know," Methos remarked to her retreating back, "I had a student, a long, long time ago... must be close to three thousand years now." Longer than he had told her he'd been alive. She stopped, without turning. "His name was Yu Chang. We were living in northern China at the time, smack in the middle of the Chou overthrow of the Shang dynasty." Methos frowned at the memory, lost in thought. "Damned unhealthy place to be living, and I knew it." She turned slowly towards him, expressionless but listening, and his eyes snapped to her, her movement catching his eye. He just stared at her with those soft eyes of his, and his expression changed... His gaze snapped to the snow-filled trees above him, he remembered to breathe again, and continued in a rush. "He was young when he died the first time, couldn't have been more than twenty-five... but Chang was a *philosopher*." He smiled, and said the word as if it explained everything. "He wanted a better life for his people. I told him that we should relocate, to finish his training in safety, but he wouldn't go. Revolutions are the philosopher's playground, he'd say. I told him assassins tended to get their jollies in, too. But in a much more subtly sarcastic way, of course." His half-smile turned reminiscent. "I miss the Chinese... they had a way of saying things back then that I haven't seen matched since. They could insult a man to his face, and he wouldn't even realize he should be angry for three days. Now that's an art."  
  
But then he stopped for a moment, and when his eyes rose to meet Natalie's, he wasn't smiling anymore. "Chang had a fire about him, a passion. He was an idealist, a revolutionary, in the best sense of the word. I knew it was wrong to stay, but I relented, because I believed in him. I stayed with him to protect him, to help him. He was a great swordsman."  
  
"But he relied on me too much. At a crucial moment, he lost focus. In the middle of a fight, he hesitated, turned to me." His eyes were hard, and he looked at her as impassively as he did that night in Cairo. But this time, she knew the feeling was directed at himself. "He died."  
  
She tried to be understanding. "Adam, you can't use one failure as a measure for everyone...."  
  
He interrupted her. "But it wasn't just one man." He started to walk toward her slowly, picking up speed as he continued, "It was Yu Chang. It was Constance. And Urick. And Antonius. And Alanna. And Varanti. And Qa'ra. And Yuri. And Nagasa." Once within arm's reach, he put his hands on her shoulders and shook her slightly. "Natalie, do you understand? Not just one. Not just two. *All* of them. They all died, because they never got the edge. They felt too safe. On some fundamental level, they didn't realize that they might die. Somewhere, far in the back of their mind, it was still a game. Do you understand? When they went into battle, they were excited, they were clever. But they weren't *afraid*. They weren't scared that they were going to die a bloody, horrible death, and that the face of the man in front of them might be the last thing they ever see. And if you're not scared, Natalie, you'll be too slow, too sloppy. You will die. And that's exactly what they did, one right after the other." His intensity was becoming desperate, as he gave her one last hard shake. "Dammit, I was NOT going to let that happen to you! Do you understand me? I don't care if I have to rip my soul out with my bare hands to prevent it, but it will NOT HAPPEN AGAIN!"  
  
Methos was shouting so loud, Natalie found herself responding in a whisper. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
His grip on her arms loosened perceptibly, and Methos bowed his head, taking in a deep breath. His tone was considerably softer when he replied, "Would you have left if I did?"  
  
She opened her mouth for a quick reply, and he said, "Truthfully." She closed it again.  
  
She relented, "Maybe not." He just waited, watching her with those understanding eyes that sometimes annoyed the hell out of her. Like now. She frowned. "All right, probably not. But you still should have told me."  
  
Methos sighed. "Natalie, you have to listen to me. At heart, I'm an incredibly selfish man. I live for myself, for my own happiness only. I do very little for anyone's benefit, if it's not also for my own, and I make a point *never* to become too attached to anyone. Therefore," he continued in only somewhat feigned annoyance, "when it inevitably happens anyway, disaster tends to strike. I shove my foot into my mouth up to the kneecap, do something incredibly stupid, if not several somethings, and end up making a complete ass out of myself. All in the name of love." He shrugged. "I should introduce you to Duncan, the two of you could make mincemeat out of me. I'm surprised he's still speaking to me, after the last time I tried to protect him." She couldn't help snorting in laughter, and Methos smiled helplessly. "Natalie, I spend so much of my time not caring about anyone, that when I do, I care too much. I love first and think later, if ever," he smiled at her, "depending on who you ask. Which is all very romantic in a storybook, but in reality gets me into the damnedest predicaments, and inevitably drives me and everyone around me completely insane." He sighed in mock irritation. "I tried to trade in my heart for a smaller model, but the Management assured me I'd gotten the right size. I'm seriously thinking of filing a complaint."  
  
Natalie measured his words, hating herself. Because she doubted him. Because she believed him. Her heart and her brain were battling it out, and she couldn't tell who she even wanted to win. He was acting exactly as he was before... but if it was an act, it was one she'd be falling for twice. But if he was telling the truth... God.  
  
She loved him. That was an easy enough place to start. She loved his smile, his nose, his eyes when he laughed, his outrageous jokes, and the way he ran a hand through his hair when he was nervous, like now. She loved his stories, his touch, his coffee, and his sunrises. But most of all, she loved his honorable heart, his mortal soul, and the fact that he would deny both if he could. She never questioned the fact that she loved him.  
  
She just didn't know if the man she loved stood before her. If he had ever really existed at all.  
  
*When did my life get so complicated?* She used to say it was when Nick woke up on her autopsy table. But she couldn't really say that anymore, now it seemed she'd been born into it. One would think this might mean she could handle the emotional stress.  
  
Maybe she would, eventually. But not today.  
  
Finally Methos asked, almost hesitantly, "What are you thinking?"  
  
She watched him like a hawk, examining him. "I'm thinking that I don't trust you."  
  
Out of long practice, he managed... barely... to not recoil slightly at her words. Of course, simply telling her that everything was all right wasn't magically going to make it come true. He understood that. But to hear her say it still cut deep. "All right, fair enough. Why?"  
  
Her reply was as simple as it was frightening. "Because, outside of you, all the Immortals I've ever trusted, all the Immortals I've ever met, I've eventually had to kill."  
  
Methos stood and waited, but his ears were insisting that they'd heard what they'd heard. His brain decided to double-check, just for sure. "You've made no friends at all?"  
  
"None that haven't tried to take my head at some point or other."  
  
For once, Methos had nothing to say.  
  
He looked at her, he looked at the snow, he looked back at her again. His mouth was open the whole time, as if he were trying to get a word in edgewise over the chattering of his brain. Natalie turned to walk away. And then she heard a sound. A unique sound, that rang like a bell.  
  
Natalie didn't even realize she'd reacted until she had retreated a full ten feet from where she was a moment ago, her sword out and her guard close about her, her face taut and hard. Methos stood where he was, immobile, but whether it was in concession to her fear or his own, it was impossible to tell. His hand was frozen, sword outstretched. His eyes were as naked with emotion as she had ever seen them, filled with some strange combination that she couldn't quite understand.  
  
It took her several moments to realize that he was holding his sword hilt- first.  
  
"Take it." She stared at him still, fearing a trap. She knew intimately how much better a swordsman he was. He leaned forward to offer it to her, purposefully leaning far enough off-balance for her to knock him over with a feather if she wanted. His eyes, when she finally gathered enough courage to look at them again, were sad. "Trust has to start somewhere, Natalie."  
  
She still hesitated a moment, and Methos invisibly began to get nervous. *Speaking of really stupid things I do in the name of love...* But she grasped the heavy broadsword in her small hand, and pulled it to her, her face also a jumble of emotions.  
  
Natalie ignored Methos for the moment, instead staring at his sword, as her mind weighed it all, frightened to let down her guard, frightened that if she didn't now, she never would again. She sighed. Double-double-crossing yourself just becomes so useless after a while. Natalie pondered for a long time whether a person, who was so afraid of death that he left her to die in his place, would give her his sword. Even considering what he would gain by restoring their relationship, he didn't know what her final reaction might be. He couldn't know; she certainly didn't. And what *would* he be gaining by this? More cannon-fodder? He can get that anywhere, and certainly in more willing fools than me. Hate. Hate hate *hate* having to think this way. You should never have to wonder if you can afford to trust the one you love. If you love, you should love completely; if you trust, trust completely. The world is so grey everywhere else, why can't it be black and white, just this once? Because this is the way the world is right now. Make a decision, and then it will all be settled, and you'll know what to do. It's the indecision that's eating at you, so think, Natalie. Think. It's too much trouble for cannon-fodder. He could pick far better allies if he wanted, and the same goes for my Quickening. He could have taken it long ago if he wanted, and I'm not strong enough to be worth his effort, really.  
  
She thought of his eyes when he told her he didn't love her, hard and black and empty. She thought of fourteen years of isolation, of Karen's bitter anger, of her death. She thought of Nick's burial.  
  
She thought of six years together. Of wandering and training, of unfailing support... and love.. Thoughts of stories and sunrises. Wide, beautiful sunrises. With him. Finally, her eyes fell to the sword in her hand. And she thought about that, too.  
  
He was right. Trust had to start somewhere.  
  
Natalie carefully placed Methos' sword on the ground next to her. Placed her own right beside it. She stepped towards him, and held out her hand. Her voice and her stance belied her strong words. "Hi, my name's Natalie."  
  
He took her hand in his, in anything but a handshake, and pulled on it gently. Natalie closed her eyes as she allowed him to pull her slowly into an embrace. As if she were blind. As if he were leading her home.  
  
His arms were warm and comforting around her back. And he smelled just the same. A cheek fell against her temple softly, and she remembered that she missed him. She had almost never allowed herself the feeling, but now she could admit it; she had missed him more than she could put words to. More than she liked to think about.  
  
Natalie's soft whisper barely made it to Methos' ears, only a few inches away. "Why did you leave me there in Cairo?"  
  
Methos closed his eyes, and concentrated on the feeling of her warmth against him, as if it could melt away some of the chill around his heart. "I didn't know what was happening until it was too late."  
  
"And later?"  
  
Methos buried his face in her hair, and the feeling hit him again. It never grew on him, or dawned slowly, but knocked him flat on his back and made his knees go out every time he felt it. It would take him a long time to get used to the feeling. He hoped he never did.  
  
Her head raised to meet his until their foreheads were touching and they could see each other's eyes, and Methos gave the only answer he knew, his brow knitted together slightly in an effort to say it as intensely as he felt it. "Because I love you," his smile was a little wistful, "more than I have good sense."  
  
She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, and nodded. "I believe you." And she finally let it go. Let it all fall away, all her anger, all her doubt, for just a moment. She remembered smiling, her face against his chest. She remembered how warm her hands were as they wrapped around his back, while her toes were fast going numb. She remembered feeling safe.  
  
She didn't know she was crying until he told her, much later.  
  
****  
  
Chips and cookies were strewn everywhere about Methos' hotel room, the TV was on low, set to some kind of "real cop" show that served wonderfully as background noise. God only knew what time it was... the number of phone sex ads was the only real indication of the time. They'd cleared off a level spot on the bed and were in the midst of a high-stakes poker game. Their conversation was a bizarre mix of small talk and truth or dare, as if they could pretend that none of it had ever happened, and have a heart-to-heart at the same time.  
  
Well, sometimes the most honest answers are the ones you don't have time to prepare. And if nothing else, now was the time for honesty. Even if it had to be blindfolded, bound, gagged, and thrown bodily into the light.  
  
"The Packers are going to murder the Jets in the Superbowl."  
  
Natalie glanced at him askance. "You're crazy. Green Bay hasn't been to the Superbowl in twenty years."  
  
The smug grin was back. Natalie supposed she should be annoyed, but she wasn't. She'd forgotten how much she missed his smile... she realized she was staring, and almost didn't care if he noticed. But she blinked decidedly and went back to concentrating on needling him, as he replied, "And how long has it been for the Jets? Thirty? At least?"  
  
As for Methos, he almost chuckled at her sly expression. She was so cute when she thought she was outsmarting him. "Willing to put your money where your mouth is?"  
  
"Always. How long did you hate me for leaving you in Cairo?"  
  
"Mmm. Depends on who you talk to. My right hand says fourteen years. My left says not a day."  
  
"Sounds complicated."  
  
She smiled to herself as she shuffled the cards a few more times on the bible they were using as a little table. "Not really. I just wasn't speaking to my left hand for a while. What this time?"  
  
"What do you say about some five-card draw."  
  
"Sounds good to me." She flipped cards to each of them in turn. "How much are you willing to part with on Superbowl Sunday?"  
  
Methos glanced at his cards and smiled. "I'm almost afraid to say. Why don't we settle on however much you have left, after I wipe the floor with you tonight."  
  
"Ah, ah, ah.. that's why we're playing with toothpicks. I'm not stupid enough to play poker with you for the first time with real money."  
  
Methos trying to sound plaintive is really something that must be experienced... description fails to capture it completely. "Natalie, I've really never learned to play this game very well."  
  
Her soft snort of laughter was her response to that idea. "Adam Pierson, you were *born* to play this game well. Bet you ten mints."  
  
"See you and... raise you three cinnamon."  
  
"Did we decide a cinnamon was ten mints or a mint was ten cinnamons?"  
  
"Ummm... the first. Cinnamon as a century and mint as a minute. Cinnamons are bigger than mints." He knew what kind of look she was going to give him, he didn't need to look up to see it as he smiled to his cards. "It's simple, really."  
  
She flicked him an amused, exasperated, and slightly horrified glance. "Has anyone ever told you how really, truly, deeply strange you are, Adam?"  
  
His vaguely gleeful expression told her all she needed to know. "Not the way you do."  
  
Natalie briefly considered tackling a response to that, but decided that a) whatever she said would end up being either obscene or inadequate, and b) it wasn't really worth it anyway. She shrugged and said, "Forget I asked. So how did you know to come to Toronto?"  
  
"I had friends who were keeping an eye on Karen." Methos had a very interesting expression about him. Exasperated was a good word. Thwarted was better. "I didn't think she would come after you... I gave her several reasons to think twice about the idea."  
  
Natalie shot him a look that was either amusement at the idea, or disbelief. "Did you?"  
  
"Yes." A wry and helpless smile drifted across his face. "Apparently I didn't make as much of an impression as I thought."  
  
Natalie considered her last bet before tossing a couple more plain toothpicks into the pile. Keeping her eyes on the cards, she asked, "Were these same friends keeping an eye on me?"  
  
Methos frowned at his own hand, but if it was the cards, the question, or the answer that was bothering him, she couldn't tell. "Yes, but they refused to tell me how you were doing. Or where you were."  
  
She cocked an eyebrow, and merely said, "Interesting friends."  
  
He snorted in annoyance. "That's one way to put it." She thought she heard him mutter something about "conflict of interest, my ass," but she couldn't be sure. Then he relaxed, and conceded, "It... was a little complicated."  
  
"I can imagine. Straight flush."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"I never kid about poker. Fork over the wood, honey."  
  
He pouted and pushed the small pile of toothpicks in her direction. "Shark."  
  
She laughed. "Out-sharking the shark is purely justified. Your shuffle." After a few amusing moments of watching him try to simultaneously sulk and shuffle cards at the same time, neither of which he could do very well in the first place, Natalie pointed out, "If you didn't know where I was, how did you send me the flier of Nick's concert?"  
  
Methos stopped mid-pickup in his modified version of 52-card shuffle, and looked up at her, startled. "What flier?"  
  
Her brow came down with a snap. "What do you mean, what flier?"  
  
Methos hadn't moved, still wearing a blank expression. "I mean I have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
What the heck? "I'm talking about the whole reason I came here in the first place. Someone sent me a publicity flier for a piano recital Nick was having." Natalie shrugged and crossed her arms in front of her. "I just assumed you'd sent it."  
  
"Mmmm.... nope. Believe me, if I'd known where you were, I'd have sent *me*, not a flier."  
  
"Hunh. Strange. I can't think of anyone else who could have sent it."  
  
"One of life's less interesting mysteries. So what do you want to play now?"  
  
Natalie yawned mightily and made the cardinal sin of checking her watch for the time. She squeaked and asked Methos calmly, "What time does our plane leave tomorrow morning?"  
  
He leaned back to reach the bedstand and managed to grab the tickets without quite falling off the bed, but it was a near thing. "Eight-thirty. Why?"  
  
"Don't ask, but we should probably go to bed now."  
  
Methos cursed silently to himself. Even with all their talking, he hadn't quite had the guts to get one last thing into the open. And if he didn't talk about it now, it wasn't going to get talked about. At least not for a few more decades. He sighed.  
  
*I'm Methos.*  
  
*Natalie, I've got something I need to tell you. Please, sit down. In the next room would be perfect.*  
  
*Hey, Natalie! Guess what? I'm Methos!*  
  
*This is pathetic. I've told people before, it's not that big a deal.* (Except that this is the basic underlying reason why her life has been a nightmare the past few years.) *But that wasn't my fault.* (Not directly, no. Does it matter?) *No. But still, it's ridiculous. I feel like Bruce Wayne, practicing saying 'I'm Batman.'* (Well, you could always say that instead.) *Great. Then she'll just think I'm insane.* (See, but she already thinks you're insane, that's the beauty of it.)  
  
Wasn't I going to take a mental dustbuster to you two?  
  
(*Butt out.*)  
  
Methos rubbed his face with his hands, took a deep breath, and hedged. "Natalie, there are still some things we should probably talk about."  
  
Natalie, knowing better than to sit around waiting when Adam got that far- off distracted look, was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. She came out immediately, toothbrush still hanging, looking for all the world like a five-year-old being forced to eat more broccoli. She made a few inarticulate whining noises, realized the trouble, went into the bathroom, spat out the toothpaste, came back, and tried again. "There's more?" Then her eyes brightened in recognition. "Oh, is it the three thousand year thing?" He nodded. Natalie laughed as she stuck her toothbrush back in her mouth and started walking back into the bathroom. Her words were distorted as she yelled above the running faucet, but they were at least recognizable. "Well, you're Methos, right? I don't see the problem."  
  
Methos, who had been walking over to innocently turn off the TV, skidded to a stop, and turned to stare at her through the open bathroom door. He just *stared* at her, in pure shock. Complete and total brain shutdown. It restarted just a little after a few moments, which was a good thing, since he was needing to breathe real soon now. But still... if he'd been a cat, every hair on his body would be sticking straight out. Which, telling from his hair, wasn't far from the literal truth. "How... how did you know?"  
  
She nailed him with a very amused and *very* smug glance. "You talk in your sleep."  
  
He stared at her some more. Tried to say something, failed completely. Remembered to open his mouth first. Remembered it was already hanging open. Tried again to get something out, didn't work.  
  
Methos just gave up, sat down in the middle of the floor, and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.  
  
Eventually he opened his eyes again, to see Natalie lying on her stomach on the bed, watching him with that triumphant grin still plastered all over her face. Methos wished he could say something absolutely brilliant and witty, that would blow her socks off in retribution for flattening him like that, but nothing properly snide enough came to mind.  
  
Not to worry. He was convinced the true reason for immortality was to give those blessed with it enough time to think up the perfect comeback. To anything.  
  
He'd actually devoted a lot of time and energy to the idea. Which is why it galled him so much when the best he could come up with was: "What are you looking at?"  
  
Her grin never faltered. "The world's oldest man." She flipped onto her back and talked to the ceiling casually, "It's funny, you don't look like a Methos. Not really like an Adam, either... Joshua, maybe? How about Peter... Pete.... Petey?" She chuckled. "I don't think so."  
  
Natalie chattered happily away, completely unaware that Methos was no longer listening to her at all. His attention stopped somewhere around the point where she said his name, this time without the shock value. The sound had been echoing in his mind ever since.  
  
It was silly, really. He was who he was. What he called himself didn't matter. A name was just a word, one was as good as another.  
  
He'd never told any of his mortal wives his first name. He hadn't seen the point. He'd told almost all of them of his immortality... all but one, actually, and he'd had a very good reason not to tell Elizabeth. He didn't remember what it was now, but he remembered it being one hell of a good reason.  
  
The point being that Methos had never heard anyone he was in love with call him by his first name. Not once. Well, that he could remember. He never wondered why that was, never thought it made much of a difference.  
  
He was wrong.  
  
(Of course, not even the beginning of this is crossing his mind right now. He's in a complete fog... the kind where you'd need a compass, a road map, and a native guide just to get a phone number out of his brain. And even then, he'd probably give it to you in Egyptian. It was just turning out to be one of those kinds of days for him, poor guy.)  
  
"Natalie." When she turned her head to look at him, it was hard to figure out his expression. He seemed startled, and intent. She'd no idea what might have startled him, but he seemed to be intent on... her. She flipped back onto her stomach, but her heart was still firmly lodged in her throat.  
  
"Mmm... mm-hmm?"  
  
"Say my name."  
  
Coherent speech was asking a lot, when he insisted on looking at her with that completely absorbed expression that was destroying her from the inside out.  
  
"Methos." She'd meant it to sound wry, sarcastic, something that would nicely prevent the situation from deteriorating faster than it should. So where did the breathless whisper come from?  
  
And then his face altered again... god help her, he almost looked like she slapped him. His expression was completely open, stunned, again with so many emotions swirling in his eyes that she couldn't identify them all. And suddenly Natalie didn't care about her voice, or her fatigue, or catching a plane in the morning. She only cared about making sure he looked at her like that every day for the rest of her natural life.  
  
He was kissing her before she even realized he'd gotten up off the floor. Grinding his lips into hers, his approach seemed to be more on the 'attack' end than the subtle side.  
  
Of course, she responded in kind. So much for keeping it slow, she thought hazily as she half-slid, half-pulled herself up into a kneeling position on the bed. Her arms had already locked about his neck at the elbow and she was doing her best to feel every inch of his body with every inch of her own, her thoughts flying in every direction at once, with large portions revolving around how much she'd missed the feel of him, and how very long it had been since she'd had the opportunity to know what it felt like.  
  
She took a shaky breath, realizing that she really needed one at that point. She tried to let it out slowly, but her voice connected against her will halfway through, and it ended as a moan.  
  
Clothing was tumbling through her fingers, she wasn't sure whose it was, it really didn't matter. Whatever it was, it was in the way, and that was the important thing right now. She only was half-aware of what her hands were doing, she was far more interested in his cheek, and his jaw, and his nose, and his throat... a part of her was pleased to note that his breathing was just as chaotic as her own.  
  
She felt her shirt being tugged at, and tried to maneuver to get it off, but not quite quickly enough, as the sound of ripping fabric filled the room. They both froze. Natalie whispered, "Was that you or me?"  
  
He leaned to the right, to the left, trying to find the damage. After a moment, he concluded, "I think that was you," and pulled on the ends of her shirt, connecting the tear.  
  
He had such a thwarted look on his face again, she couldn't help it. She tried to keep it in, really she did. He noticed she'd put a hand over her face, and the edges of his mouth twitched. A titter escaped her lips. And they were both off, nervous energy melting away into laughter.  
  
"I hope you know how to sew." She looked rather helplessly at her torn clothing after he pulled her shirt gently off.  
  
"Of course," he replied with a grin. Knowing that smile, Natalie glanced at him suspiciously and waited for the punch line. She didn't have to wait long. "I knew a magnificent Victorian woman at one time... Diane. Excellent seamstress."  
  
Natalie interrupted him, horrified. "You learned to sew just for *that*?"  
  
"She was notorious for hating men. It was the only way to get anywhere near her."  
  
Natalie put her hands on her hips. "You're making this up."  
  
"I am not. Would I make up something like that?" She just looked at him. "Okay, this is exactly the kind of thing I would make up. But I didn't this time, honest."  
  
"Did too."  
  
"Did not."  
  
"Did too." "Did not." "Did too." "Did not."  
  
Natalie got ready to pounce. "Did too."  
  
He didn't see her until too late. "Did --" She attacked him, knocking him back onto the bed and smothering the rest of his response in a kiss, one that started much like the last, but melted ever-so-slowly into the merest touching of lips, leaving Natalie completely boneless by the end. She shivered as his lips traveled across her brow, and drifted across her face to nibble lightly on an earlobe.  
  
"Did not," he whispered in her ear, almost inaudibly, and went back to capture her mouth before she could do anything but laugh.  
  
They argued far into the night.  
  
*  
  
Promptly at six-thirty the next morning, Natalie's clock radio burst forth in the hotel room, which had beforehand been filled only with the sound of Methos' snores:  
  
"Well, it's a beautiful Thursday morning here in sunny Toronto... forecast says it should be staying sunny all week, so dust off your sunglasses and drive carefully during sunrise and sunset. Speaking of which, those of you driving the 10 East past Allen Boulevard, there's a car stalled out in the center lane, so traffic is slow through that area, but police are on the scene, and they should have it cleaned up any time now."  
  
"Later in the hour we'll have some news for you... updates on the Bush Family Civil Trial: now that the system has named its price, will they pay? Experts have some surprising answers. Stay tuned."  
  
"But for now, to take your mind off your troubles and the Bushes, here's some Duran Duran, with Ordinary World..."  
  
"Passion or coincidence Once prompted you to say 'Pride will tear us both apart' Well now pride's gone out the window Cross the rooftops Run away Left me in the vacuum of my heart"  
  
"What is happening to me? Crazy, some'd say Where is my friend when I need you most? Gone away"  
  
"But I won't cry for yesterday There's an ordinary world Somehow I have to find And as I try to make my way To the ordinary world I will learn to survive"  
  
It was a shame, really. Natalie probably would have liked the song a lot, if she hadn't slept through it.  
  
They woke just as their plane started boarding.  
  
Methos hadn't packed. 


	10. Part 10

Time To Spare, Epilogue  
  
Fifty years later.  
  
Natalie looked up from her book when the doorbell rang. Of course, she'd been expecting someone, but vampires tended to be incredibly inconsiderate of other people's schedules, and did things whenever they pleased, which made a book a handy all-purpose utensil around them. Should she ever write a book on the care and feeding of vampires, that would be the first thing she'd say. The second would be that melodrama is like a second skin to them, so you have to be very careful not to burst out laughing at an inopportune moment. As in, ever. This one seemed no different, caught between fear and pride as he looked at her.  
  
He simply said, "You knew Nicholas de Brabant."  
  
She replied, "Yes," and let him in.  
  
She showed him to a seat, and asked him a question. The same one she asked all of those who appeared on her doorstep. "Why do you want to become mortal?"  
  
She'd heard so many answers to this over the years, they all started to blur together. She knew the entire spectrum, from love to revenge to depression and back again. And she did the best she could to keep track of how they'd fared, each and every one of them, to know who was happy with the choice in the long term, and who wasn't. To know where to draw the line, for future reference.  
  
He swallowed, and hoped his answer would satisfy the woman before him. "Because I'm tired of this life, this immortality. I want to have children, grow old... go to PTA meetings, fill out tax forms..." She smiled. "I have lived this life to the fullest, and done many things I never dreamed I would be able to do. I don't regret a moment of that. But now that time is over, and there are new things to experience. But only on the other side."  
  
She nodded, and thought for a moment, while the vampire sat and agonized in silence. Then she nodded again, and spoke quietly, softly enough that he could barely hear her, and no vampire outside the room would ever be able to.  
  
She finished, and he looked at her, incredulous. "That's it?"  
  
She smiled, and replied quietly, almost to herself, "Anyone can do it."  
  
He nodded slowly, then rose to take his leave. He had another lifetime to look forward to, after all. Natalie waited until he was at the door before saying, "Oh, and if, through some misfortune of luck, it doesn't work, and you feel the need to seek... a refund?" Before he had turned around, a full- length sword was wobbling in the wall six inches from his head. "Don't come here."  
  
He finally turned, to see Natalie still sitting in her comfortable chair by the fire. "I wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"Good. I believe you know the way out."  
  
Oh, that he did. And how.  
  
As he hurried away from the tree-lined house, he was pulled roughly up by the collar, and looked into the golden eyes of a tall Enforcer. He had spent precious years following this one, in the hopes he would lead him this far.  
  
The Underground had been in operation for hundreds of years, defying the Enforcers' best efforts to destroy it. Few had ever come this far. Of those, he knew none that lived. For this and other reasons, he was in no mood to spare time for pleasantries. He hauled the terrified vampire around and snarled in his face, "What did she tell you?"  
  
Intellectually, the vampire knew he should say nothing, that the house behind him, and the person inside it, were too important to allow to fall into Enforcer hands. He knew all this, and it was for the good. Because he was far too frightened to say anything coherent, anyway. Stunned, he sputtered out, "Wh-what?"  
  
The Enforcer's grip tightened, then abruptly loosened, as another hand shot out of nowhere to land on the Enforcer's wrist, the vise-like grip causing him to lose his hold.  
  
The third vampire gave the Enforcer a cold yellow glare, and spoke softly to the other. "He *said*, you were free to go." The first vampire, having intelligence larger than that of a peanut, knew to get when the getting was good, and disappeared in a flash of movement.  
  
The Enforcer snarled viciously at the loss of its prey, precious years of careful planning wasted in a single stroke. But wait. His hot yellow gaze fell to the house nearby. Why settle for interrogating *him*, when he could go directly to the source? But he had one thing to take care of first. He turned to face his new adversary, and suddenly lit up in a twist of a smile. "You will regret that, my friend."  
  
The other did not smile, but merely stood with his hands at his sides and his head high. "I sincerely doubt that." The Enforcer needed no more encouragement, and launched himself at the other with lightning speed. Which proved completely ineffectual against the other's superior age, strength, and training. The battle was fierce, but brief. It ended with the crunching finality of a broken neck.  
  
"And I am *not* your friend." LaCroix dropped the Enforcer like rotting trash to the ground. His head would need to be separated from his body, but he had a bit of time before it was absolutely necessary. He glanced briefly at the warm house whose occupant was oblivious to the fact that it was he, and he only, who had protected her for so very long from so persistent and pernicious a threat. The Enforcers knew very well that there was a sort of Underground Railroad to mortality.  
  
They rarely knew where this Railroad was initiated, or how many of them there were. They never found out it was made up of one single person, an Immortal, able to pass through the ages and not be one of them. He made sure of that. Those who found anything of importance did not live long enough to tell anyone. It was a fairly simple plan, which irked his sense of strategy, but it worked, and that was what was important. Besides, it infuriated the Enforcers to no end, and that alone was enough to satisfy him. He would be a long time in taking his pound of flesh from them.  
  
But his revenge was two-edged. For to wreak havoc with the Enforcers, he was forced to protect something he hated to the depths of his soul. Because the Enforcers were absolutely right. This Railroad unequivocally threatened their existence, the whole vampire Community and its way of life, something the Enforcers were created specifically to prevent. It was maddening... were he in anything but the position he was in now, he would kill Natalie himself. But he wasn't, and he couldn't be.  
  
If it were *anyone* but Nicholas, and anything but a last request, he would have justified breaking his word somehow, or simply looking the other way at the proper moment. But as it was, she would live, as long as she may, without Enforcer intervention. Much as it galled him to be the instrument of this movement's salvation, he did not see another choice.  
  
The fact that he had been placed into this position was simply too perfectly done to have been an accident. He had considered this many a long night before, and tried to piece together where he had taken a misstep, to lead him so far astray from his intentions.  
  
It had all began with Nick. That much was obvious. He'd extracted this promise from him, knowing that LaCroix would never break it, no matter how much he wanted to. He had timed the request perfectly, just at the moment when he would have said yes to anything at all. For that alone, LaCroix cursed his own altruistic side, a net that had caught him up at the worst possible moment.  
  
But it had not ended there. No, the best was yet to come. For now that Nick had his promise of protection, now he needed to tell Natalie. He didn't know how his son would have told her, how he *could* have told her, but that was not the problem. The weak point in Nick's plan was that he had no idea where Natalie was, or how to contact her without arousing suspicion.  
  
That was where LaCroix came in. He had come across the information, and decided to send Natalie to him as a gift. Playing directly into his hands.  
  
Mortality had done good things for his son. If he wasn't so furious, he might have been proud.  
  
Now, never let it be said that Nick did not love LaCroix, and LaCroix, Nick. But that never stopped LaCroix from torturing Nick his whole life with the fact that he was now something he hated, something he could rage against his whole life, and never be able to change.  
  
And love never stopped Nick from returning the favor in kind.  
  
LaCroix swore Natalie would never discover his part in helping her little crusade. But she eventually did, of course. And Nick was right, LaCroix truly angry *was* quite a floorshow.  
  
But that's another story.  
  
END. 


End file.
